Diamond in the Rough
by Cometeclipse
Summary: In Regency Era Thedas, Orlais and Ferelden are at war. As a soldier in the Ferelden army, Cullen is tasked with getting a document to his superiors, but is betrayed. Elya saves him, and as he heals from his wounds, they grow closer. She agrees to return with him. Unbeknownst to either of them, she has attracted a spirit as a protector. An Aladdin AU, set in the Regency Era.
1. Chapter 1

Just some quick housekeeping about this story! Aladdin is based on one of the stories that Scheherazade tells to her husband in the work called One Thousand and One Nights. The stories are a collection of predominately Middle Eastern folk tales, and as such I wanted to make the heroine of the story Middle Eastern. However, since Thedas doesn't really have a strictly Middle Eastern based country, I played around a bit with what was available to create someone who looks to be of Persian descent. (It will come up in later chapters more). So for now, I hope you will understand Elya's descriptions a little bit clearer!

* * *

Cullen slouched negligently in the back of the cart, a battered hat low over his head. His usual uniform of navy blue superfine decorated with gold braid was waiting for him back home. For this trip, nothing ostentatious was worn, simple cotton clothing of low quality. He had one leg pulled up, an arm draped carelessly across the raised knee. Behind him and up on the seat, Blackwall was similarly relaxed, driving a pair of nags. The others of his company lounged in the old, rattling vehicle, supposed farmers making their unhurried way down the road.

What anyone watching them could not see was the intelligent flicker of eyes carefully taking in the rolling and wild countryside they were passing through. Nor the wickedly sharp weapons concealed at each soldier's side, shields hidden beneath burlap bags, and a staff hidden against the cart side. It was impossible to know that resting in a concealed pouch sewn into his clothing, Cullen carried a secret document entrusted to him personally by The Nightingale.

Blackwall lazily flicked the reins along the horses' backs, but the cart did not pick up speed. Cullen was content with their pace. Slow it may be, but it was not speed which they required right now. While they were within Orlais's borders, it was stealth they valued.

Ferelden and Orlais had been at war for two years now, and Cullen didn't see an end in sight. It seemed futile; Ferelden struggling to keep their borders while Orlais sought to conquer his young country. Emperor Gaspard was determined to have them back under Orlesian rule, and his forces were organized and disciplined. His forces had pushed through the Frostback Mountains, naval support aiding in pushing through all the way to Lake Calenhad.

King Harrowmont was supplying some support from Orzammar in recognition of King and Queen's aid during the Fifth Blight. And the Ferelden forces were holding Orlais steady where they were, but the war was destined to be a long, difficult one. The list Cullen currently carried would help keep Ferelden independent… if it made its way into the Commander's hands.

He traveled with a small group; his full contingency of soldiers would draw too much attention. Just him, Blackwall, Harper, Harris, Hagman, and young Perkins. Samson was following a day behind, keeping an eye out for anyone who may have been too intent on their passage. A reliable group, talented, and most were battle-hardened. Cullen had hand selected them for their clandestine travels, relying on their acting abilities as well as their talents. If they were caught, they would be executed for spying… which was technically not what they were doing. They were just delivering the results of other's spying, but Cullen knew the distinction would not matter.

Cullen's sharp amber eyes were constantly scanning the cobbled road behind them, his men carefully positioned so that each section was being measured just as closely. So when Hagman calmly reached for his hidden sword, Cullen took note. There was a potential threat heading towards them from the front. His suddenly sharper senses honed in on the harsh sounds of metal clicking together, the squeak of leather as it rubbed. Horses, Cullen determined. Mounted horses, several of them. Not good.

He knew his other men had noticed, everyone becoming instantly aware of the danger they were in. Cullen's heart rate sped up, boiling to that point of perfect resonance where everything became sharper, clearer. He could taste the tension in the air, feel the calmness settle over them all.

The first blow swung down from a man dressed in black armor, a hissing spark of light flaring from where Harris threw up a magical barrier, preventing the blow from hitting true. Cries shrieked from behind the foes' distinctive facial masks, a yellow feather emblazoned on their doublets. Chevaliers, the most elite of Orlais's forces. Maker.

Cullen sprang into action as Blackwall tried to control the cart. The jerky motion made it difficult for any of the now fully engaged soldiers to ground themselves, battling both the unsteady motion and rapier fast blows the Chevalier knights rained down on them.

Cullen brought his sword up, deflecting a heavy two-headed axe aimed at his neck. He cursed roundly; well aware they were not equipped for a full armed assault. "Go!" He shouted to Blackwall, holding his shield up just as one of Harper's daggers flew through the air and buried itself in his opponent's neck. The chevalier froze, then slid from his horses back, the creature bolting away.

Blackwall battled with the reins while trying to protect himself from where another opponent hammered against him. Cullen leapt to the narrow seat, placing himself between the two fighters. With single minded determination, Cullen fought the skilled knight, their swords ringing sharply from the strong clashes. The cart, despite Blackwall's attempts, failed to move.

Blackwall jumped down, fumbling with the traces. "They're cut!" He cried out, and Cullen's stomach sank. The scruffy animals reared and kicked, tied together by no longer attached to the cart. They wildly careened away, abandoning them. The cart was not going anywhere.

Just then, a shrill scream made his eyes shoot to the back of the cart. Perkins had his hands wrapped around the blade shoved in his belly, terrified eyes locked on the death mask of the man who killed him. With an efficient flick, the sword was removed and the boy crumpled, dying breath rattling out slowly. Somehow the noise overrode all others, sinking into Cullen.

Despair spiraled through him. Perkins was just a lad, barely eighteen. Too young. Cullen had known it, but had agreed to the boy's pleas bring him along, tactically agreeing that such a youthful looking boy would dissuade suspicions even more. He had allowed it. And now, Perkins's blood was on his hands.

Cullen cried out, Harris yelling wrathful obscenities and twirling his staff, sending a bolt of angry red towards Perkins' killer, setting clothing on fire. Cullen snapped back to his own fight, the chevalier pressing his advantage at his inattentiveness. With all the anger he possessed, Cullen blocked and parried, trying to keep some control of the fury that threatened to engulf him.

Blackwall brought his shield up to bear; yelling as he smashed into the man Cullen was fighting. The chevalier tumbled from his saddle and Cullen left him to Blackwall. He jumped down the carts opposite side and sped to where Hagman fought from a losing ground, his opponent from horseback having already inflicting grievous wounds. Blood flowed from various cuts, and the eldest of Cullen's soldiers stumbled, his face pale.

Cullen thrust, his sword catching between armored plates. The chevalier grunted, jerkily spinning and switching his attacks to Cullen. Hagman stumbled back, grabbing the cart and his chest, breaths heaving. Cullen gritted his teeth as he and the chevalier danced, but Cullen knew that he wouldn't be able to last long, dodging both the trained horse and the man on its back.

Another sharp cry pierced through the sounds of fighting. Harris fell backwards, landing on the cobblestone with a crack. His staff fell from his fingers, and Cullen could only watch in horror as one of the chevaliers sent his horse trampling over the mage. Hooves bit into unprotected flesh, crushing down on fragile bone and organs.

Distracted by Harris, Cullen didn't notice the chevalier on foot who came up behind him. He saw the flicker of dark movement too late, spinning in time to prevent the sword from impaling him. Instead the blade bit deeply into his lower right side, the slice of the sword so sharp for a moment Cullen didn't feel anything. With a snarl, Cullen retaliated, fighting with the burst of adrenaline pumping through him. On more even footing, Cullen clashed with this chevalier, ignoring all his impediments as he unleashed his fury.

Cullen drove the man back, away from the cart. He brought his shield up, blocking an overhead attempt, before changing directions and knocking into the man. The chevalier stumbled, his sword flashing out and nicking Cullen's arm in a wild blow. Cullen ignored it, pressing further still while his opponent struggled to find footing. With a strong twist, he brought down his sword, severing the man's hand. A high pitched scream came from the man's mouth, and Cullen brought his blade around, cutting into his throat. The chevalier's scream died with a gurgle.

Cullen spun back to the battle, taking assessment. Perkins and Harris were down. Hagman and Harper fought off two chevaliers, both bleeding and trapped against the cart's side, their abilities hampered. Blackwall faced off with a third chevalier, fighting over a smoldering body. Cullen clamped a hand over the deep gash on his hip, a wave of weakness dragging at his limbs. He gritted his teeth and readjusted his grip on his sword.

Harper caught sight of him and jerked his chin to where one of the chevalier's horses paced nearby, the beast's eyes rolling. Blackwall saw him as well and shook his head in warning. Cullen knew what they were telling him to do.

He wavered. The document had to get to the Commander; it could not fall into enemy hands or remain undelivered. But every part of Cullen rebelled at the thought of leaving his men behind. He saw Harris, Perkins, the way his soldiers and friends fought valiantly. There was a chance that Cullen's involvement would help turn the tide, but only a chance with his injury. He knew what his duty was. He knew what his men were telling him to do.

He turned and limped towards the closest horse, slipping his shield onto his back and his sword in his scabbard. His men were keeping the remaining chevaliers occupied, preventing them from seeing as Cullen grunted and fumbled.

He could feel the blood running down his pants, piercing pain radiating from it as he hauled himself into the saddle. It would kill him if he didn't get it closed soon. He couldn't prevent himself from grunting, but he steadied himself and gathered up the animal's reins. The horse danced, aware that a stranger was on his back. But Cullen was adeptly trained on horseback; he commanded a company of hussars, light cavalry. He skillfully collected the beast and turned down the road, spurring the horse into a gallop.

Cries rose up behind him, the chevaliers seeing him bolting away. Instantly he heard the clatter as they raced to follow him. Cullen allowed himself one glance back; Blackwall was the only figure he saw. The man had his shield up, his sword at the ready, watching as Cullen raced away.

Cullen gritted his teeth. Perhaps now whoever still lived would be able to get to safety. He was grateful for the horse's smooth gait even as he urged the animal faster. The sound of the chevaliers remained far too close behind him, and Cullen knew he would never outrun them. Not with his wound. He would need to lose them somehow.

Cullen veered off the road, a copse his destination. If he could just reach it, a forest rose behind it, a place where he could more easily conceal himself. He would worry about his injuries when he wasn't being pursued so closely.

As Cullen leaned over the horse's neck, the horse gaining more speed, he knew only one thing for truth. A contingent of chevaliers hadn't just stumbled upon them. Someone had tipped them off.

They had a traitor.

* * *

A gentle rapping on her door brought Elya's dark head up, an indulgent smile to her lips. She knew what that meant. Carefully she covered the mortar and pestle in which she had been grinding Crystal Grace, and set it down on her work table. Her tawny brown skin was streaked with paste, and she absent mindedly wiped them on her apron already liberally stained with a rainbow of colors. The simple dark green gown beneath had sleeves that ended just below her elbows, handmade but well maintained, a narrow band of leaf colored ribbon beneath her breasts the only decoration.

As she crossed her little cottage, she looked at her current menagerie of animals. The little bird with his wing in a splint tweeted loudly at her from his cage, hopping along the bar in restless energy. He was almost completely healed, just a day or two more before he would be ready for release, as he was vocally letting her know.

The rabbit in the hutch next to him, however, still needed plenty of time to recover. She had cleaned and sewn a long jagged gash down her side just yesterday. The poor thing was scared still, her head shoved in the corner. Elya had smeared a combination of elfroot, dawn lotus, and rashvine paste over the cut to keep an infection from setting in. In recent years, she had tweaked the recipe passed down from her mother and found it to be potent in healing and in keeping away infection.

Elya opened her door and looked down, but there was no wounded animal for her. Frowning she looked around; that particular knock always came with a creature that was in need of some help. Her mysterious friend had been entrusting these animals to her care for years now. Although she had never met him, once she had seen him very briefly, a young boy with almost sickly pale skin. For some reason he had decided that she would care for these injured wild beings and, Elya smiled wryly, he had been correct.

This time, though, there was no fennec fox or fawn to greet her. Perhaps out in her small barn? One time she had been startled to find a young halla in the unused stall next to her old druffalo, Tansy, and the chicken's coop.

She started across the young spring grass that filled the short distance between her house and barn, when an unusual lump caught in the corner of her eye. She blinked her brown eyes, the same almost-black as her hair, another frown creasing her smooth skin. It took a moment for Elya to register that the shape spread long across her garden was a person.

She gasped and gathered up her long skirt, lifting the hem. Racing through the open gate, Elya dropped to her knees beside the man, uncaring that the dirt would dirty the already stained fabric. Carefully she ran her eyes over him. He was slowly bleeding, the edges of his many wounds crusted with dried blood and debris. A portion of his shirt had been torn away, revealing golden skin with an unhealthy pallor beneath it.

"Messere?" She gently shook his most uninjured shoulder, careful not to touch any of his angry looking gashes. "Messere, can you hear me?"

The man groaned slightly, and a giant rush of relief swept through her. She let out a breath; he wasn't dead. She shifted around to where his face was turned to the side. "It is alright now, you are safe," she told him in soothing tones.

He had obviously been attacked by someone and had managed to escape the death they had tried to deal him. He would be safe enough here. Her little house was far from any others, and she received very few visitors. She needed to immediately start working on his wounds though. There was a very serious one on his hip, and she could see the raging red of infection puffing at the edges.

Briskly Elya stood and raced back inside. With a critical eye, her fists planted on her hips, surveying what she had to work with. Her table was too short; the man was tall and wouldn't fit across it. She would have to lay him on the floor, before the fire. Her eyes snapped up to the loft, and she quickly ascended the ladder to her sleeping area. She ripped the sheets off her pallet and lifted the straw stuffed bedding. It was not the most comfortable thing, but it would be better to have him on it than the floor.

She shoved the pallet over the edge and descended back to the lower floor, arranging it before the hearth. Swiftly she ignited the kindling and logs already set up in the fireplace, her hands glowing with a little burst of power. She turned to one of her work tables, underneath it a heavy canvas cloth. She spread it over the pallet. It would help keep the blood from ruining her bedding… perhaps. Satisfied that the area was as ready for him as possible in the short time she had, Elya dashed back outside.

The man remained unmoved, unconscious in her vegetables. She brushed a heavy lock of hair that had escaped from her pins behind her ear, concern drawing her brows down. Her eyes roved over his broad shoulders and long legs. The man was big, undoubtedly heavy. Paired with being unconscious, Elya worried that she wouldn't be able to get him up, let alone move him into the house.

She swallowed once and then squared her shoulders. She had to, that was all there was to it. "Maker, grant me strength," she prayed, then crouched down to his side. "Messere," she told him gently but firmly, "I am going to move you inside. It may pain you, but please understand I mean you no harm." She doubted he could hear her, but it made her feel better nonetheless.

She lifted his right arm and slipped it over her shoulders. Awkwardly she maneuvered around and wrapped one arm around his waist, the other keeping him locked to her body. She grunted as she heaved, pulling his torso up from the dirt. His head lolled, the only signs of life the faint shivering through his muscles and the low moan that dropped from his lips.

Elya strained as she slowly straightened her legs. Remarkably the man came up with her, his dead weight far less than what she had guessed. She usually was more accurate about those sorts of things. Her perplexed gaze actually looked to his empty side; it almost seemed as if there was someone else there, helping share the burden. But of course, there was no one. They were alone in the garden.

Elya turned her focus back to the unconscious man, and slowly she was able to get him upright, leaning heavily into her body. His head rolled onto his lower shoulder, sagging uselessly. Somehow she had gotten him on his feet, but Elya felt despair trickling through the brief flush of triumph. Even with her supporting him like this, there was no way she would be able to physically drag him the short distance to her door.

"Messere," she pleaded, "You must help me! I cannot move you without your help!"

He made no indication that he had heard her, and Elya felt the panic start to grow stronger. Suddenly he grunted and jerked slightly, and his eyes opened weakly. The light whisky color was glazed with pain and fever, unfocused as he blinked. White lines bracketed his mouth, pulled at his eyes. Elya gulped and asked, "Messere? Can you hear me?"

He didn't seem to comprehend her words, moments passing before he frowned. "Must… speak… Commander," his words came out halting and slurred, but clear enough. Elya gasped. He was unmistakable Ferelden! What was he doing here? They were in the Northeastern part of Orlais; an entire sea lay between him and his country.

Rapidly, Elya switched from the Orlesian she had been speaking to Common. "Sir, you must walk. We need to go inside." His eyes closed again, the lines of his face easing slightly, as if he had gone unconscious once more. For a moment Elya feared he would remain motionless, but slowly one of his feet pushed forward.

Relief made her dizzy as she adjusted her grip around his waist, careful to not pull at the skin around his deep wound. She settled her hip against his uninjured one and slowly they shuffled towards the beckoning door.

A Ferelden man and, based on his physique, probably a soldier. If he were discovered, his life would be forfeit. That is, if he didn't die from his injuries. Elya took a deep, calming breath. First thing first, through the door and to the pallet. She would deal with the rest when it came to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Elya whirled around the room. She grabbed up needles, silk threading, rags and sheets. A small, sharp knife was placed on a metal tray, a measuring spoon and scissors following it. Large bowls were pulled from the neat storage next to her stove and filled with water she had brought in from her well this morning. She stripped off her herb smeared apron and replaced it with a clean one. While she was at her work table, she collected jars of pastes and powders, taking a second to decide which would be most useful.

At the man's side, Elya arranged things to her satisfaction. It was not going to be a simple task to bend over and work on him; if she had her way she would have him up on a table. But it would have taken too much time to clear off her work area and abut it against the smaller kitchen table. So she would improvise. One final thing to do, she pursed her lips as she moved away. At her basin she scrubbed at her hands, working the soap into a cleaning lather and washed away any contaminates. Then she settled into place.

Elya picked up a bowl and held it in her palm. She flicked her eyes to the man's face, only starting her spell when she saw that his eyes were still closed. He was feverish, and she could probably blame anything he saw as such delusions when he woke up, but there was no need to take unnecessary risks.

The water rolled as the temperature rose and mixed. Within seconds it was hot, but not scalding. She placed it on the side and picked up her scissors. The man's clothing was filthy, crusted with blood and dirt, damp with sweat and the morning dew. Almost nothing was spared from holes and tears. His boots were caked with mud, but they were salvageable and not important right now. His feet were protected and the least of her worries.

Elya carefully started to cut away at his shirt, down the sides and through the sleeves as well. She then moved down to his trousers, ever so gently working around the terrible wound in his hip. On her knees, she moved around his big body, cutting up the other side too.

When she was done, she set her scissors on the tray and folded her hands in her lap. She closed her brown eyes and blew out a breath, heat suffusing her face. She tightened her trembling fingers together, telling herself to calm. She was a woman grown, for Andraste's sake! The act of removing a man's clothing should not be so unsettling for a woman of twenty-eight! Never mind the fact that she had never seen a naked man's body before today and now she was going to be striping a perfect stranger. She shouldn't be so missish.

Elya gulped and shook herself. The poor man needed her medical attention. She opened her eyes and pulled the pieces of his shirt away, and she couldn't help but look at the expanse of chest now revealed to her. He was big, this she had already known, but with no barriers he seemed to take up even more space in her small house. His shoulders were broad, stomach flat with dips of muscle creating interesting patterns on his skin.

His natural tone was light with a golden hue, most likely, but currently he was very pale beneath it. He had lost too much blood. His face and hair were streaked with dirt, and it was hard to tell what color his hair was. Light brown, perhaps. A cut curled down to his lip, crusted with blood, but his mouth was very pleasing. His jaw was dusted with the beginnings of a beard; his eyes deep set and tense. She remembered how unusually colored his irises were and she had no doubt that when he was cleaned up and healthy, the man would be distractingly handsome. Probably had left a trail of broken hearts behind him. Good thing she was beyond all that youthful foolishness now.

High spots of color flushed his face and sweat beaded on his brow, but he was shivering slightly. Elya sent another small spell into the fireplace, stoking the flames a little hotter.

Elya gathered her courage and pulled away his trousers and unmentionables. She averted her eyes, heat flaming through her whole body now. Utterly out of her depth, she visually traced up his bare legs and skimmed over his… Maker, she would burst into flames right now. Only the fact that he was unconscious made this manageable. If her were awake while she was undressing him, touching him…

She quickly grabbed one of the sheets and pulled it over his body. Safely covered, she reviewed what she had taken in. Now that she had seen, well, all of him, Elya knew that his hip was of the utmost importance. It was the largest of his wounds and certainly infected. Besides his recent troubles, he appeared to be in excellent health. Elya nodded her head before turning back to her tray. If she was able to get his wounds clean, he had a chance of fighting off his infections.

"No," Elya told herself firmly, "not if. When."

The man turned his head towards the sound of her voice, his brows drawn in pain and confusion. "Shh," Elya instantly leaned closer, placing a hand on his burning forehead. "You must keep calm. I will help you."

She spoke in Common, but she knew her voice did not sound Ferelden. Nevertheless, some of the tension left his body, his head lolling towards her side more. Elya dipped a rag in a bowl she made chill with a gentle flick of her fingers of water and gently laid the cool cloth against his forehead. She hoped it would ease him slightly. What she was about to do would be painful for him.

She lifted her little glass jars, examining the contents. She pursed her lips, going from one to the other before finally settling on a powdered mixture of royal elfroot, arbor blessing, and just a hint of ghoul's beard. In her bowl of hot water, Elya ladled out two spoonsful and stirred the greenish powder until it dissolved.

A fierce blush was still riding high in her cheeks as Elya grasped the edge of the sheet. Carefully she tried to arrange the cloth so that as much of him remained covered as possible. But with the position of the gash, it was difficult. The long cut started at just below his hip bone and extended about four inches towards his posterior. There was an interesting ridge of muscle that led inward, and with the line of his wound, they both seemed to point directly towards his…

The lower edge of his infected cut was too close to the floor for her to get to. She grabbed another sheet and wadded it up. Telling herself she was only doing what was necessary, Elya slipped one hand beneath the man's firm thigh and lifted. He grunted, body tensing. That decadent line of muscles grew even sharper, her hand burning from the contact with his skin. Warmth rolled up her arm and swirled in her body, raising goosebumps on her arms. She shivered slightly, then scolded herself.

With a little work, she pushed the bunched fabric beneath his hip, raising him from the mattress. The slight elevation was enough to expose the wound entirely, allowing her to work at it easier. She rolled the sheet covering him, laying it on the inside of his leg to keep it in place. His chest was still mostly covered, although the one leg was exposed. Nothing she could do about it, though.

A woman's reputation was sacred; just being alone in a room with him would be compromising enough. If an unmarried woman were caught as she and this man were now? The young lady would be married off immediately, no matter to whom, to prevent the scandal that would arise. Perhaps her male relations would insist on a foolish duel, for besmirching her honor.

It was a good thing, then, she had no reputation to protect, no men to order her about. She just had herself and her skills.

She picked up the warm, soaked rag and started to clean. Methodically she worked at the encrusted blood, applying gentle pressure, but firmly making sure that the wound was clean. The ghoul's beard helped burn away contaminants, the elfroot and arbor blessing for swifter healing.

The man tensed at the tingling sensation the mixture produced, from the pain she was undoubtable causing him. She began to speak to him softly, a collection of nonsensical stories from her time in Orlais. He turned his head towards her as her accented voice moved over him; Elya knew he couldn't understand her, but he seemed reassured by her voice. She kept up her disjointed vignettes, glad to offer him some distraction from the pressure as she thoroughly cleaned.

It took significant time to work her way down the open wound, and Elya entered into a sort of calming trance. She focused only on the cleaning, words dropping from her pink lips. The disturbed wound started to bleed slightly, rivulets she dabbed away with a dry cloth. Finally, though, it was as clean as she could make it. She sat up with a sigh, looking to the pile of dirty rags and the discarded bowls. Her stock of healing herbs was going to need replenishing after his recovery. It was good she kept plenty prepared.

Thankfully, there was no necrotic tissue she needed to remove. Whatever fight he had gotten into could not have been more than three days ago. She picked out a paste she had developed, one potent and effective for encouraging blood clotting. With a gentle finger she smeared the paste liberally all over, then turned and picked up the needle and silk thread. She placed them in clean water and held the bowl in her hand. Critically eyeing the man's face, she brought the water to a rolling boil, disinfecting her tools.

He seemed slightly more subdued, but she did not know if it meant he was feeling better. The cut on his lip would need attending to next; hopefully he wouldn't need stitches there. Once she had stitched up his hip, she would ply him with water, get him to drink as much as possible. He probably had not had anything sustaining since his attack.

Elya wished she had something she could use to dull the feel of placing the stitches. She once again dipped the rag on his forehead into a bowl of water she was keeping icy, and replaced it. Drops of water created lines of dirt down his temples, and she knew that she still had so much to do. Emotion pulled at her throat. The poor man, he must have gone through so much. "I wish I knew your name, Messere," she whispered, "so I can reassure you." There was no response, just his slightly panting breathing.

Elya threaded her needle and started to work. He jerked and tensed, so she started to speak softly again, her words seeming to soothe him. He shifted, the sheet falling down his muscled chest slightly, but Elya was too intent on getting the wound closed. She easily moved with him, her stiches neat and small. Before she had come to Orlais, she never would have expected that her skills would be used to such purposes, but now she was grateful. She had saved many a life using the knowledge of her mother's people and the talents of her father's.

Within minutes she tied off the silk threads and sat upright. The row of black silk was stark against his skin, the crimson of blood and infected edges just as obvious. She spread the healing salve over the top of it and sighed with relief.

Elya settled the man back down to the floor and stood. Stretching, she gathered up all the mess she had created, cleaning bowls and refilling them. She put a large pot on her stove and filled it with water, lighting the stove boil instead of heating it herself. She quickly made some very basic soup; chicken, vegetables, healing herbs added to the water. She let it simmer while she reset her work area around the man. Letting it steep would create a good broth for rebuilding the man's strength.

She sat down next to the man's head, and worked herself so that she was able to raise his shoulders onto her knees. With a cool rag, Elya gently cleaned his face, her words now turning into an old lullaby from her mother's people. She cradled his head in the crook of her elbow as she wiped away the dirt and sweat. The grime washed away, revealing golden skin and his brown beard to her reluctantly intrigued eyes.

She couldn't help but notice his strong jaw, the straight line of his nose and thick eyebrows. She gulped as she carefully cleaned his lips, wondering if they were as soft as they looked. If she were braver, she would trace her finger over the fullness of the bottom one, but she couldn't bring herself to. She instead took the time to clean the cut on his lip. The wound was almost completely scabbed over already, and it would scar. A pity, she thought as she put some salve on it. Marring his looks seemed such a shame.

He appeared calmer now, she noted as she hummed, his shivering mellowing to the occasional tremble. His breathing was slower as well, her cheeks gaining petals of color as she watched his bare chest rise and fall. She self-consciously raised the sheet and tucked it between his shoulders and her lap. Her fingers brushed against his too warm skin, tingles of awareness curling up her arms. His skin was… velvety soft, and she immediately wanted to touch him again. Disgraceful.

She shook her head and dipped a new spoon into warm drinking water. She brought it up to his parted lips and carefully ladled it into his mouth. Unconscious as he was, some of it escaped, but eventually he swallowed the small amount remaining. A flicker of awareness moved over his sleeping face, and he turned his head. Elya happily provided more. He was not so sunk into fever then; he recognized the water and the fact that he needed it.

Over the next several hours, Elya worked tirelessly, gracefully flowing around the room. She cleaned the rest of his wounds, keeping as much of him covered at a time as possible. She somehow was able to roll him gently to his front so she could treat his back as well. Three more cuts needed stitches and careful cleaning, but none needed near as many stitches. She didn't bandage him; without help there wasn't any way she was going to be able to wind cloth around his body. She fed him another bowl of water, then a small amount of the broth.

His fever broke once, and she gave him a cursory sponge bath. She kept her eyes averted, knowing his fever would most likely build and break again, forcing her to repeat the intimate process. Bruises and cuts marred his skin, but the man was still a decadent pleasure to look at; one she knew she should be ignoring. She defied any proper young lady, though, to not look at such a fine specimen of a man.

She changed his sheet twice, placing them by the door with the bloody rags. His clothing was bundled up by his feet, most likely their only use now as rags. Frowning she checked her linen supply; she would need to wash things soon, she was running low. However, she didn't want to spend that much time away from him. Instead she went out to her garden and quickly gathered a few more herbs. She returned to her work table and made more of her healing slaves and powders. All the while, every few minutes she checked on her patient; his breathing, his temperature, changing out the cooling cloths, seeing if he needed more water, more heat.

The sun was setting by the time she realized she was shaking. Elya blinked wearily down at her trembling fingers, frowning as she tried to reason out the reason why. Hazily, she realized she hadn't eaten herself, too focused on the man. She ladled herself out some soup, pulled out the last chunk of the bread she had made three days ago and methodically ate. She wasn't hungry, too tired to feel anything besides the need to sleep.

She remained in her chair for a moment, blinking at the ladder that lead to her bedroom. Her mattress was currently occupied, but pillows and blankets would be sufficient. She groaned as she made herself stand, shuffling to the ladder and up it. She almost tripped on her hem several times, too drained to hold up her skirt sensibly.

She gathered up all her extra blankets and the two pillows she owned. She tossed them down to the ground floor and slowly followed down. She covered one of the pillows with a protective cloth and gently slipped it beneath the man's dirty curls. Undoubtedly he would like the softness of the feathers more than the tick of the mattress beneath his head. She drew another two blankets over the man's sheet, and built up the fire more. The nights of spring were still cold, and he didn't need to take a chill on top of everything.

Finally, sluggishly, Elya curled onto a little pallet she had made at his side, hugging her pillow to her chest. Her stays poked at her tender skin, the pins still in her hair. Her back ached from bending over as much as she had, her eyes gritty. Yet just laying down was all she needed, and she instantly dropped off to sleep.

* * *

Cullen blearily opened his eyes, feeling as if he had been run over by his horse. His whole body ached, and he felt incredibly weak. He was naked beneath thick and rough blankets, sweat clinging uncomfortably on his chest and back, beneath his armpits. The flat wooden slates he was staring at above his head were unfamiliar and confusing. Heat radiated from one side, and he looked over. A fire was crackling at the last of a log, embers glowing brightly. It was dark, he realized. Night.

A soft sigh had Cullen looking the other direction. A woman lay curled in blankets a little way away from him. Her hair was half up, dark strands tangling along her pillow and shoulder. She looked to be wearing a morning dress still, not clad in a nightgown. The fire moved, highlighting her brown skin and making it look tawny, a honey glow lighting up her pretty round face. Her parted lips were dusky pink, her lashes a dark fan on high cheekbones. Her nose had a high, curved bridge, aquiline and proud. From Tevinter? That wasn't quite right, though.

Who was she? Why was she asleep next to him? He couldn't remember what had happened. If they had been intimate, why was she not in bed with him? And where was he? He was not in his townhouse, was not in his officer's tent. He closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him.

There was one other thing that he needed to worry about, a niggling sensation of something extremely important. But he slipped back to sleep before he could remember.


	3. Chapter 3

A moan popped Elya's head off of her pillow, a scramble as she sought to distinguish where the sound had come from. Someone was with her, in her house. She was always alone here, besides the animals, and they didn't make noises like that.

Her heart raced as she looked around, her eyes immediately landing on the man who was tossing his head on her pillow. Her rush of adrenaline still spiked beneath her skin as she remembered yesterday. Her mysterious patient.

She disentangled herself from the blankets she had herself wrapped in as she moved closer, worry knitting her brow. The man was jerking back and forth, his hands twisting the sheet, face sheened with sweat. His brows were cranked down, pain and sorrow stamped on his exhausted face. What was he dreaming of?

"Shh," Elya finally untwisted herself, ignoring the sting from where her stays poked at her raw skin. "Easy now, calm." His thrashing causing the blankets over him to dislodge, and she planted her hand on his bare shoulder to press him still.

As soon as she touched him, the man's eyes snapped open, a fierce light turning his eyes golden and dangerous. His hand snapped up to her wrist and pulled, toppling her onto his chest. Elya gasped and twisted, trying to prevent herself from knocking against him. His free hand came up and wrapped around her throat, holding her immobile. "Sir!" She squeaked, "Sir please! Careful of your injuries!" Her voice came out higher and breathy as she tried to keep herself away from his battered body.

She ended up sprawled over the top of him, her bottom landing on his far leg. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her arm held in his big grip over his head, their faces just inches apart. His eyes were glazed with pain, his sudden movements no doubt aggravating his wounds, but his look of intensity did not fade in the slightest. The hand around her throat was firmly in place, a very palpable warning. Elya swallowed, suddenly remembering that he was a soldier, in his enemies' territory and hurt. It was no wonder he reacted with aggression.

"Who are you?" His voice came out raspy, weaker than she expected. But the tone was commanding still; he knew he had the upper hand over her. "Where am I?"

Elya blinked, and caught his feverish eyes. She took a deep breath, hoping it would help him relax as well, but he remained on the razor's edge. "My name is Elya, messere," she maintained eye contact, keeping herself still and her voice soothing, talking to him as if he were an injured animal. "I found you in my garden, unconscious and badly hurt. I brought you inside."

His brows furrowed, and he blinked heavily. He winced, no doubt suddenly aware of the pain he was in, the hand around her wrist tightening slightly, although the other remained steady around her throat. She could feel the rough skin of an active lifestyle, his size from how his palm and fingers enveloped her neck. "Sir," Elya spoke again, "This cannot be good for your stitches." He frowned harder, focusing on her once more. "You need to rest," she coaxed.

His unusually colored eyes narrowed and he stared up at her. She knew that she was being studied carefully. She kept her gaze steady, face calm, trying to reassure him as best as possible. He shivered, his shudder so great she moved with him. Elya frowned, "Please, sir, you have a fever."

His whisky bright eyes looked over her features once more before he sighed and released her. Elya rose quickly from his chest, remarkably aware of how she had been sprawled across him. It had been… almost pleasant, the feel of his chest against hers solid and warm. Things she wasn't supposed to feel were tingling down her spine, making her self-conscious in this man's presence. What would it be like to be held against such a body without the threat? Her skirts twisted around her ankles, making her progress gangly and ungraceful as she pulled away. She felt heat in her cheeks and looked beneath her lashes to her patient. His eyes were closed, lips pressed together. He hadn't seen her inelegant flight, something she was needlessly pleased about.

Elya shook her head and pushed aside her discomfort and silliness. She sank to his side; to the spot she had spent so much time yesterday. With a gentle touch, she placed her palm on his forehead, "Your fever seems lower than yesterday's." He just sighed and tilted his head towards her, but he kept his eyes closed. Tremors raced beneath his skin, and Elya adjusted the now tangled blankets, fitting them over his shoulders.

He looked exhausted still; Elya felt worry tugging at her stomach. She pressed her lips together as she laid her hand on his forehead again. Although his temperature was indeed lower, she needed to keep up his strength as best she could. Would he trust her enough to take care of him until he was well?

A sudden need to know his name spread through her. "Sir," she said softly, so as not to startle him, "May I please know your name?"

His lips parted, and his voice came out rough, almost slurred. "Cullen." His eyes opened slightly, but she was not sure if he was truly looking at her.

It was only a partial answer, no last name. Elya nodded reassuringly, but she wondered if the omission of the rest of his name was on purpose. To protect himself? He was feverish, perhaps not fully aware of what he was saying. Would he even remember this conversation? But it was enough for her, for the moment, and Elya resolved to not bother him until he was more conscious.

She smiled at him gently, her fingers trailing off his forehead. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Cullen. Do you need anything?"

"Water," he croaked, licking his lips. He frowned when his tongue ran over the cut on his lip, disgust wrinkling his nose as he tasted the salve.

"Careful," She rose to her feet, "It is bitter." She laughed softly at his look, "As I am sure you now know." She filled a glass with the last of her water and grabbed another spoon. She would need to pump more water from her well soon. A glance around her house revealed many chores she would have to complete today, and she sighed inwardly. She had slept deeply, but it had not been the best rest, on the floor in gown and stays. She didn't doubt that today would be just as long as yesterday, either.

"You shouldn't rise," she sat down next to his head, "it would pull at your wounds too much. I will slowly give you little sips by a spoon. Do you understand?" The man, Cullen, nodded his head shallowly, and Elya carefully started to give him water. It was much faster than when he had been unconscious, but still a tiresome process. After half the glass was emptied, the man slipped back into sleep.

Elya set the water aside, relief filling her for a couple reasons. The first was that he rested once more. Healing sleep was going to be the best thing for him. The second reason, though, was more of a selfish one. He would not be awake as she tended to his wounds.

The fire needed tending to before she started that, though. Elya stood and smoothed her skirts, wincing at the wrinkled fabric. Ingrained habits made her wish to change dresses, make herself more presentable in the wake of a guest, but practicality won out. She allowed herself the concession of putting her hair up, pulling her remaining pins from the already half down heavy tresses. Without the use of a mirror, she replicated her simple bun before she stood and went to the door. There was too much to be done today to be wasting her time with useless vanity.

* * *

Cullen hazily rose from the depths of nothingness, the sound of a door gently closing rousing him slightly. He hurt, but he wasn't aware enough to know specifics. He drifted, keeping his eyes closed as he listened to the crackle of a fire, the sound of water gently moving.

He felt relatively safe, perhaps the reason he felt content to stay just as he was. But there was something, an itch just below his consciousness, a puzzle he wanted to work on. What was he supposed to do?

The sound of the water stopped, and gentle footfalls made their way across the room to his side. Cullen pushed the puzzle away as he felt the weight over him being lifted; cool air brushing over his exposed waist and thigh.

That made his eyes jerk open, wildly looking to his left. "Wha-!"

A woman sat on her knees, her hand extended to touch him. She froze at his exclamation, wide almond-shaped eyes startled. "What are you doing?" He demanded, scrutinized her sharply. He didn't move though. He told himself it was because he was waiting to see what she did, but it was a lie. He felt too weak to do much more than he had. He was in pain, but he didn't know why. Assess first, then react. A motto that had served him comparatively well so far in his life.

"Mister Cullen!" Her hand dropped and he could see a wet cloth bunched in her fingers. "You are awake!"

Cullen blinked. She knew his name. Her voice was… almost familiar to him, but he was quite sure that he had never met her before. He would have remembered her. She spoke Common, but it was accented, perhaps not her first language? And unless he had somehow managed to stumble all the way to Navarra, he figured he was still in Orlais. But, despite their location, her accent did not seem to be Orlesian either. "Who are you?"

Her expression smoothed into a milder look, revealing little of what she was feeling. "Ah, I was wondering if you would remember our previous conversation. It seems you were too feverish after all. I am Elya, sir." Her hands moved in an unconscious gesture, as if to drop to her skirt. A curious look flitted across her face and disappeared almost immediately. The path her hands had been on smoothly altered and she instead placed the cloth into a wooden bowl and folded her hands in her lap. Perhaps he had been mistaken, but his instincts told him that she had been preparing to make him a formal curtsey.

Cullen looked around the room and saw no other. "And your chaperon is where?"

A soft but genuine laugh escaped her lips, her smile widening and set her dark eyes to sparkling. "You need not worry about such respectability with me, sir. I am far too old to need a chaperon. Besides, a woman of my stature would not need one. I am not of the nobility; there is no need to obey society's rules with me." She dropped her gaze to her hands, where she had started to rub at the calluses on her palms.

Cullen's eyes narrowed as he studied her. She was lying. Everything about her revealed her to be a lady. Her manner of speaking, her perfect posture even as she sat on the floor, the very air she emanated. However, she was telling the truth as well. No gently bred lady would have calloused hands, would sit on the floor, would even be alone in the same room with a naked man. The situation they were in was extremely compromising, and if they were discovered, Cullen would be honor bound to offer for her… if she were a lady.

He shook his head, exhaustion pulling him down and his eyes closed as he tried to muddle through this mess. His felt sluggish and slow, confusion tickling the edges of his mind. What was the best thing for him to do? Why did he feel so awful? What was she, lady or servant? And why did it matter? She was just making him more confused.

Nothing for it, he would need to remove himself from her presence. It seemed like an insurmountable task at the moment, his hands shaking at just the thought of sitting up. But he would overcome it. He needed to get back to Ferelden anyways. He just needed his clothes…

Cullen's eyes popped open, and he surged upwards. "My clothes!" The documents!

Instantaneous pain shot from his side, radiating in debilitating waves. Instantly dizzy, he groaned and hunched over himself, one hand slamming to the floor, the other wrapping around his stomach as nausea bowled through him. "Sir!" The woman cried out, her hands instantly on his arm. "Oh no, your wounds!"

Gentle hands slowly guided him back down to settle against the pillow. He grit his teeth as sweat rolled down his temples, and he battled the rush of pain buffeting him. He could only concentrate on breathing through it; short, little breaths that didn't aggravate anything. What had happened to him?

A cool wet cloth was laid on his forehead, and Cullen sighed gratefully. It gave him a point to anchor onto, his body no longer spinning. His too-hot temperature cooled somewhat, and the nausea gradually receded. His breaths became slower as he kept his eyes closed, his trembling abating slightly. After a few moments, Cullen finally felt in a moderate amount of control once more.

There was a gash on his side. He could now feel it distinctly, felt the way that it burned and throbbed. Infected, then. A hazy memory of dropping to a forest floor and pressing himself into the loose detritus, concealing himself as men ran by. He had stayed there, motionless for an age, until he had been sure the soldiers following him had moved away. He had stripped his jacket off and pressed it to this cut, his only concern stemming the loss of blood and getting away from the men hunting him.

"Messere?" That lilting voice caressed over him, "I am worried about your stitches. May I please check them?"

Cullen turned his head slightly, making sure to keep the cool cloth in place, and cracked his eyes open. Elya, if he remembered correctly, was looking worried. Her lips were pressed together, her finely arched brows drawn together, lines creasing her forehead. Someone had stitched up his wound? It would explain the strange pulling of his skin he supposed.

Did she know what she was doing? Not that he could be selective at this time. His hands were shaking too much, his capacity for critical thinking dimmed. Instead of giving her permission, though, he asked instead, "My clothes?"

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head at his folly. She shifted to his feet and picked up a stack of carefully folded cloth. "I had to cut them off of you, I am afraid. They are completely unwearable." She placed the neat pile next to his head. "I am sorry I was not able to salvage them. Your shoes, however, are cleaned and by the door."

Cullen nodded absently, focused on the blood stained and ripped clothing. He reached out with one hand and touched the shirt, his heart thudding. Sweet relief tried to break from him in a sigh as he felt the slight resistance of the documents in their cloth binding. They were still there… perhaps still undiscovered. He needed to check them more thoroughly, but he was not going to reveal them to a stranger. He would just have to wait till she was otherwise occupied. The best time would be while she was asleep tonight.

He nodded to Elya as he carefully disguised his interest in the clothes. A soft, approving smile raised the corners of her mouth, and she set to her task. She shifted the blanket once more, exposed the wound and set to work. She bathed it liberally with warm water, her touch gentle. He grimaced at the sharp little spears radiated from where she was working. She was being careful, he knew, her touch surprisingly skillful. Her methods seemed tested and her manner unwavering. She did not shy from seeing what was probably a gruesome sight, did not faint at his exposed flesh. Perhaps she was as she claimed, just a common woman making her own way in the world.

After several minutes passed, she sat upright and nodded slightly. "The stitches are still intact, and I believe the infection in part of the cut has been defeated." She smiled at him gently. The reflection from the fire highlighted her brown skin, set amber and honey waves playing across her smooth cheeks. "If you continue on this miraculous path, Mister Cullen, I believe you will be out of the woods soon."

Cullen nodded once, his lips falling slack and his breathing deepening as he watched her pick up a small glass jar. She dipped inside and her fingers came out coated in a deep green mixture. His heavy eyelids lowered for one moment, then again, as a cool and tacky substance was spread over his skin. It was soothing, hints of tangy elfroot drifting in the air. Was the smell coming from her or from the liquid?

He forced himself to open his eyes one last time to look at her. She was cleaning her elegant hands, a contented look on her face. No sly guise, no smug expression. Just a woman who viewed her work with satisfaction.

As Cullen drifted back to sleep, he had a strange urge to hear Elya's melodic voice again.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen felt awful. He was achy and weak, and there was a damned bird tweeting loudly, its' noise echoing all throughout the small cottage. He blearily opened his eyes craned his head to see where it was coming from. A small wooden cage sat on a table by the door, a brown and red bird hopping impatiently around inside. It had a bandage on one wing, but that didn't seem to stop its active movements any.

Outside, the sky was just brightening, a grey light that told him there would likely be rain, although he didn't hear any yet. He shivered and huddled further into his blankets. Underneath the general pain he was in, he could feel various twinges in his muscles, the pull of stitches in a half dozen places. His skin ached, somehow too sensitive and yet deadened at the same time. How much longer would he feel like this, be stuck like this? He needed to move.

His host, the mysterious Miss Elya, slept upright, propped against the curved back of a comfortable looking chair. It could not be the best for a sleeping on, however, yet she somehow looked just as poised as if she were in one of the Society salons in Denerim. The early morning light was flattering on her, showcasing her slightly parted lips, the delicate line of her jaw. Her hands were folded perfectly on her lap, her hair only slightly mussed.

If she had been from a noble family, she would have been a sensation when presented to Society, Cullen was sure. She was the type of woman who set people at ease, both men and woman. That added to her beauty, and she would have had everyone eating out the palm of her hand during her come out Season. Eligible bachelors, young puppies in calf-love, probably some rakes as well. A Diamond of the First Water; no other lady making her come out the same year would have been able to compare. She probably could have had her pick of men, Arls to Banns and all the heirs in between. Probably wouldn't have lasted her whole Season without becoming betrothed. Cullen, with his humble background and honorary military title would not have even gotten to dance with a lady such as that.

Not that she was a lady, if he were to believe her claim. She would never have had such a Season.

And not that he wanted to dance with her, Cullen shifted impatiently. The frivolity of Society drove him mad; he wasn't meant for that kind of life. Just… this annoying bird and its constant chittering were making him think of music…. He was still feverish most likely.

Elya suddenly shifted slightly, a frown pinching her lips as she slowly started to wake up. Cullen immediately moved his head away and closed his eyes. Watching her wake up suddenly seemed too intimate; she probably would not be pleased with his attention either. She made a small groaning sort of noise from the back of her throat, his sharp ears picked up. Perhaps she was stretching? Feeling her muscles protest her vertical rest?

There was no noise for a long while, then a slight sigh as she stood. The muffled sound of her steps moved towards the ladder and she climbed to the loft. Cullen opened his eyes once he heard her moving around up above, staring at the wooden slats that separated them.

He hadn't been able to look at the secret missive last night. With her sleeping in visible range of him, Cullen hadn't wanted to risk the fact that she would wake up. Cullen silently berated himself. If he were being completely honest, he hadn't woken up during the night. Hadn't woken up at all again yesterday. Usually his self-control was such that he could force himself to rise. His honed instincts also kept him on a razor's edge. Yet, since his injuries, he was sluggish and sloppy.

If Elya hadn't taken him in…

A very hazy memory floated to the surface of his memory. He closed his eyes and frowned, trying to bring it into sharper clarity.

He had come to the edge of the forest, and had seen a small village backed up against it. He had been starving, had known his abilities were impaired from blood loss and exhaustion. It had been night but a moon had shown houses, dark and quiet. It would have been possible to break into one and taken what he had needed. Yet something had told him it would be a bad idea to follow through with that thought.

Instead the whisper in his ear told him to go south. Which had made sense; boats to Ferelden were towards the south. So Cullen had slipped a little further back into the forest and trudged on. He had stumbled and fallen; somewhere in his long flight and forced hiding he had lost his sword and shield, forced to abandon almost everything on him. Except the packet carefully and safely hidden in his shirt.

The faint wisp of wood smoke had pulled Cullen from the walking unconsciousness he had been in. Vaguely he had turned, and in the moonlight he had seen two little buildings all by themselves in a clearing. The whisper urged him towards the smaller of the two. Maybe there were eggs nearby? He had gotten almost to a door when he had seen the garden, all neatly laid out with plants growing tall and strong.

Elfroot. Royal Elfroot. Panicked adrenaline had spiked in Cullen's veins, and he had stumbled forward as quickly as possible. All else dropped away as he focused on the potent healing herb, his only mission had become reaching that leafy stalk. But as his heart rate had increased, so had his bleeding. Cullen couldn't remember what had happened after that, but he must have passed out sometime shortly after that.

Then Elya had found him, helpless in her garden. He almost growled at his stupidity. What had ever made him decide to do such a risky thing? He had truly been delirious to risk his life in such a way. But, truthfully, if he hadn't, he probably would be dead by now. If he had gone to the village, sooner or later he would have been caught, his identity revealed. That route would have gotten him killed. It was almost as if something had been guiding him here…

A cool hand pressed to his forehead and Cullen's eyes snapped open with a jerk. His eyes connected with the deep brown of Elya's, surprise written on both of their faces. Cullen knew he was slipping; he hadn't even heard her come down from the loft. A fact that sent another surge of annoyance through him.

Elya lifted her hand steadily, already composed from the fright he must have given her. "Mister Cullen," her velvety voice rolled over him, "I trust I didn't wake you?"

Her accent sent a spark down his spine, but it also curiously set his muscles loosening, made him breathe easier. Her voice was both stirring and soothing at the same time; a fact he didn't appreciate and strove to ignore. "I was already awake," he spoke through his teeth, "That bird…"

Elya shook her head as she looked to where the bird must still be hopping back and forth. It grew even louder, if possible. "Yes," she sighed, shaking her skirts out as she stood. She had changed, was now in brighter blue dress but just as plain, her hair redone into a prim knot. "He was ready to be released yesterday, I think. He is just letting me know that he is quite recovered at this point."

She moved to the cage, and Cullen shifted so he could watch her. She spoke to the bird softly, her words lilting and foreign. Not Orlesian, something else. Cullen just couldn't place it. She was speaking too softly for him to hear words, but he was struck again by how familiar her voice sounded to him. Who did he know that had her unusual accent? And how many languages did she speak? Orlesian, Common, this mysterious language…

She unclasped the cage door, keeping it mostly closed as she reached her hand inside. With patience and a soft touch, she caught the little bird, her hand around its' wings and brought it from the cage. The bird quieted and didn't attempt to escape, just tilted its' head and listened to her as she extended the bandaged wing. Elya probed her fingers along the feathers, feeling the bones, and Cullen realized she was quite practiced with this as well.

She really was a competent healer, wasn't she? His wounds had been life threatening, yet she had saved him. A bird's broken wing? Cullen had set plenty of bones while in the army; he would have no idea how to set something so fragile, so small. Yet the bird now seemed completely unhurt, presumably thanks to her skill.

Abruptly Elya smiled, a gesture that bowed her lips attractively, "You are completely healed, little one. Time for your freedom." She lifted her gaze to Cullen, sharing her delight. "Excuse me, sir, I will be right back."

Elya unwound the bandage as she headed towards the door, the bird now chirping happily. She left for a time, and Cullen heard the sound of the bird fade, but it didn't leave entirely. The free creature sang loudly and he thought that it was flying circles around the cottage. Singing Elya's praises and rejoicing in his freedom?

Cullen clenched his teeth and straightened his neck to stare at the loft again. He felt so stuck. He shifted his legs, arched his back, rolled his shoulders. His hands clenched and unclenched; he felt like he hadn't moved in years, his body frozen into a board. Frustrated anger started to burn in his belly. Which had the unusual side effect of making him realize he was starving, his stomach a cavernous hole.

Elya's soft footsteps announced that she had come back inside. She was making some noises in the kitchen area, the gentle clinking of ceramic dishes. His anger inched higher as he felt the dark pool of exhaustion hovering, waiting to swallow him whole. Maker's breath, he absolutely hated being ill. And this damned forced inactivity was going to drive him insane.

"Would you like some breakfast, Mister Cullen?" Elya's voice cut through his thoughts and went straight to his stomach. In enthusiastic answer, it rumbled loudly. Heat rose in Cullen's already fever-pink cheeks as Elya's easy laugh told him she had heard the embarrassing noise. "Yes, I can imagine. You have had nothing but broth for two days now."

That made Cullen jerk and swing his head around to look at the woman. "Two days? I have been here for two days?"

"Yes," she frowned, her elegantly straight brows furrowed at his intense reaction. "I found you a little past ten in the morning two days ago."

Three days. He had not moved in three days. How long could he safely stay here? It was just a matter of time before someone saw him; the village was too close and there were the chevalier's to consider.

The ambush on the road had told him that not only that he had been betrayed by one of only a handful of trusted soldiers who had been in the know, but that they also wanted the document he had. They were not going to stop till they got it. He had not been able to kill the remaining chevaliers. They would have regrouped by now, brought in reinforcements and started to comb the area. Sooner or later, their search would reach this cottage; he wouldn't have made it far enough away.

Elya seemed to notice his distraction, but she pressed her lips together and didn't probe. "I will be back shortly." She grabbed a basket and slipped from the cottage. Cullen lifted a hand to his eyes, ignoring the way his arm and shoulder protested the movement, and rubbed at his face. Maker, he needed a shave. And his health back. For a long time he was lost in thought, considering his options.

Elya returned, smelling slightly of damp grass and dusty hay. She must have been out in her barn. Within minutes Cullen smelled food cooking, and his mouth watered.

Was she going to attempt to hand feed him his food like she had the water yesterday? Every sensibility protested against it. No, he was going to feed himself. Properly. This meant he needed to be upright. He remembered his last attempt to sit up, the intense pain that it had caused him. He would be smarter this time, but he was going to rise. He was not going to stay weak and prone.

Cullen planted his hands on the stuffed mattress he lay on, and took a deep breath. Gritting his teeth, he pushed upwards, lifting his shoulders.

From across the room, in the same even and calm tone of voice she normally used, Cullen heard Elya say, "If you reopen the wounds that I spent hours cleaning and stitching together, I'm just going to let you bleed to death."

A bubble of amusement made Cullen's lips twitch, his first in what felt like weeks. A smile started to spread, and sent a little lance of pain come from the cut on his upper lip. He pressed his lips together to keep from splitting the slathered cut back open, but he let his chuckle rumble lowly in his chest.

Elya sighed when he didn't relent and lie back down. "Oh very well. Let me help you," she muttered something under her breath, something that sound suspiciously like "Men." She moved to where a short but strong looking chest sat against the wall. She bent over and wrapped her hands around a handle, and started to pull it towards him.

Cullen realized he was staring at where her exertions pulled her dress taut across her bottom. Shapely, curved and womanly… appealing. He jerked his eyes away, a swirl of emotions battling inside him. Embarrassment fought with a hint of attraction and that battled with annoyance at even taking care to notice. With determination Cullen focused on pushing himself further up, feeling the burn of inactivity in his arm, the dull protest his wounds sent up as his muscles shifted.

Elya puffed out a breath as she finally got the chest positioned behind him. Studiously ignoring what he had discovered, Cullen waited as Elya pushed it a little closer to him and then used the pillows to cushion his back and shoulders from the sturdy wood.

The blankets had fallen from his shoulders and pooled just below his ribcage. From beneath slightly lowered lids, Cullen looked at where Elya worked next to him, tried to discern if she was uncomfortable with his nakedness. Her serene expression was unaltered; he couldn't read anything from her gentle expression. With her tawny complexion he couldn't tell if she blushed either. A snag of annoyance over not knowing added to his ill humor. Perhaps the reason for her calm expression was that she was completely unaffected by him. He refused to consider that that possibility was for the reason of his bad humor.

As soon as he was firmly settled against the chest, Cullen rearranged the blankets over his shoulders, hiding his bare chest once more. Elya smoothly stood and crossed to the kitchen. He felt a little rush of triumph; although it was small and tiring, the movement upright was a victory. Now, if only the rest of his recovery would be as simple.

"Here you are," Elya said quietly, placing a tray on the floor next to him. Cullen's eyes snapped open; he hadn't even known he had closed them. Had he drifted off to sleep?

"Thank you," He spoke with heartfelt softness, finally remembering his manners. "Thank you for everything, Miss Elya."

She smiled her gentle smile, genuine warmth sparking in the fathomless depths of her eyes. She just nodded gently and rose to her feet. Gracious but modest; hallmarks of a true lady.

He turned his eyes from Elya's perfect posture, focusing on the tray she had prepared. Several eggs mixed with mushrooms and chives were on a plate next to a large bowl of porridge splashed with a bit of milk and a piece of honeycomb. There was a mug filled with a steaming liquid colored green, bits of leaf still floating around in it. Suddenly thirsty, Cullen picked up the mug and wrapped his hands around the heat, breathing in deeply. The spicy smell of fresh herbs floated in the steam, a hint of sweetness to it. Gingerly Cullen sipped at the tea, testing the temperature. It was perfect. Perfect temperature, perfect sharp tang of elfroot, perfectly sweetened with a dollop of honey.

As the hot, relaxing tea moved down his throat and spread through his body, Cullen felt his lips twitch again, this time a small tender look. Elya, watch him bleed to death? She would never allow anything or anyone to suffer, would fight without cessation to save them. Cullen was certain of it; without a doubt.


	5. Chapter 5

Elya lifted the empty tray from where Mister Cullen had set it aside. He was asleep again, slumped against the pillow. His head was turned towards the fire, his dirty hair reflecting almost none of the light. He needed a bath, but his stitches made that impossible. She pressed her lips together; she would have to wipe him down again soon and change his sheets. Heat rose in her face as she considered the fact that he was now waking up. His fever was light enough that he wasn't being held unconscious by it. He would wake if she were to touch him.

After his breakfast, she had noticed him trying to subtly test his body. His legs had moved beneath his blankets, the right one far more than the left. He had arched and hunched his back, rotated his arms, examined his stitches. He had always made sure to try to do this while she wasn't looking, covering up his naked body swiftly when he saw her start to turn. But she had gotten more than a couple looks at his bare chest, heavy arms, the flash of a thigh. He shimmered gold in the fire, unconsciously displayed the startling ripple of muscles playing beneath his skin. The thought of touching him again made her light headed, foolishly wishing for it and dreading it at the same time.

It really was not proper; Elya scolded herself as she placed the dishes in the sink. A wry smile threatened immediately after that conditioned response. What a ridiculous thought. There were more important things than being proper, as she had learned.

She tidied up the dishes and looked around her house. There were chores she needed to tend to, and just two days till the village market. She pressed her lips together as she looked at her ice box. Her patient needed meat; eggs and milk would only go so far for the protein he needed. And Mister Cullen was so… big. She didn't think she had enough food to keep him adequately fed. She quickly made up a list of things to buy, worry tugging at her stomach. Would she have enough money to purchase everything he needed?

She took a deep breath and pushed past the concern. If she needed to sell more of her items to make more money, that just meant she needed to make more. She headed out the door and went to her garden. The freshness of spring growth soothed her, the clouded sky scented with rain as she laid a heavy blanket on the ground and knelt on it. Soon she was absorbed in caring for her herbs, letting her worry drift away.

A scant hour later, Elya was back inside and at her work table, preparing more items to sell.

"What are you making?" The sleep-husky voice of her patient startled her, sent a shiver prickling over her skin. She almost jumped at Mister Cullen's voice, but she held a precisely measured out spoonful of spindleweed. She wasn't going to let it spill.

She swallowed as she dumped the powder into her mixing bowl. "It is a tonic," she said calmly, reassured that he wouldn't know how much he had startled her. She had thought he was still asleep. "It is made to be taken for stomach pains. A dollop in a glass of water." She gave far more detail than he had asked, keeping her back to him. She was curiously hesitant to look at him and to have him see her in her splattered apron.

The villagers called her witch for her knowledge, and for one other marked incident, and they kept away from her as much as possible. Except, of course, when they needed something from her. Elya may be a pariah, but everyone knew her concoctions worked; it was probably the only reason she had not been made to leave as of yet. Her life worked for her. But… she didn't want Mister Cullen to think ill of her.

For long moments she felt his eyes on her, and she almost squirmed, wanting to know what he thought. She took a restrained breath, the impact of his beautiful eyes enough to be startling even when she wasn't looking at him. It really was unfair for him to be so arresting when she was trying to be immune.

"What do you put in it?" He spoke again. He sounded genuinely curious, not sneering or distant. Did he not think… Perhaps he did not think less of her for knowing such things. And he did not seem to be asking because he was bored. Elya knew the sound of polite disinterest, and that was not what Mister Cullen's tone indicated.

"It is mostly water," she slowly started to explain, "boiled with the petals of dawn lotus flowers. When it is cool, I add a little spindleweed and just a dash of vandal aria." She knew he was watching her as she chose the powdered vandal aria jar and pinched of it twice, stirring the mixture together. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then turned to him and crossed the room, crouching at his side. "Here, this is what it looks like."

Mister Cullen looked at the milky white liquid curiously, leaning in closer to smell the delicate scent of the dawn lotus petals. "It smells nice; much better than the gunk my mother used to force me to drink." A pained expression pulled his lips tight, disgust haunting his face.

She allowed a smile to break through, pleased he had not minded her sharing her craft with him. "I'm sure she meant best."

Mister Cullen shook his head ruefully, "And I'm sure she did it as a punishment. That stuff was noxious." He raised an eyebrow at her, his whiskey gaze sharing his commiseration with her, "For some reason she only prescribed it after I had done something naughty."

A sudden image of the handsome man before her as a little boy rose clearly in her mind. A petulant look was on his angelic face, clothes dirty from play. A pang shot through her, froze the smile on her face and the breath in her lungs. Wordlessly she rose and crossed to her work table, grabbing the empty jars for the tonic. She was being foolish; she chided herself as she slowly poured the tonic, measuring out the proper amount each time. She didn't even know what she was aching over… the thought of Cullen as a child? Or of children in general?

Stop, she told herself. And it was Mister Cullen. Even in her thoughts she needed to set that distinction.

If he noticed her turmoil, his voice didn't show it when he spoke after she set her mixing bowl aside and stoppered the jars. "Where did you learn all this from?"

Elya hesitated, giving herself a moment by reaching for a clean bowl and gathering up ingredients for a cream. "It is passed down. From my mother's people," She said serenely. It was the truth, but it gave nothing away.

She heard Mister Cullen shift and thump at his pillows. "And where are they from?"

She hesitated slightly again. "From Rivain," she said calmly, working smoothly. It was also the truth… it just didn't explain the complexities of her mother's background.

"Rivain!" Mister Cullen was obviously surprised. "That is certainly a long ways away. Your mother must be quite an adventuress."

"Yes," Elya nodded truthfully. Her passionate mother had been adventurous, outspoken, and well-traveled. She just had never made it to Orlais. Perhaps her parents would have traveled here if they hadn't… Elya didn't let herself finish that thought.

"And your father? Where was he from? Is he Orlesian?" Elya pressed her lips together at all of his probing questions. Was he just bored? Or was there a deeper reasoning behind it?

"No," she answered as calmly as before, "My father was from Ostwick."

"He also ended up far from home," Elya could hear the question couched in his words, but she didn't offer more information. Instead she continued with the cream, working to make it the right consistency. Mister Cullen lapsed into silence for a little while, and she thought perhaps he had fallen asleep again. However, he spoke once more. "What are you working on now?"

She hid her sigh of relief; discussing her work was much less dangerous than her past. This she could openly discuss with him.

Elya answering Mister Cullen's questions with detail as she worked, pleased that he seemed interested. Some time passed, and his voice became slightly sluggish, his comments a little slower. He was probably succumbing to the demands of his body, heading towards healing sleep again. She spoke in a low and gentle monotone, hoping to sooth him to sleep. It really was best for him to rest as much as possible.

A few minutes passed in calm silence, suddenly shattered by a rapid loud knocking on her door. She startled, almost tipping over a jar on her desk. She spun around, her hand flying to her chest and pressing to her racing heart. That knock meant… "Someone's coming."

Mister Cullen sat bolt upright, twisting so he could see the door. Immediately he looked around, searching. His hand snaked out and grasped the fire poker, holding it at the ready. He looked to her, a deadly focus chasing away any hint of his weariness. Elya knew that if he needed to, Cullen would take on any danger. And in his state, he would very likely die.

* * *

Cullen tested the weight of the only weapon available. Elya had said someone was coming; he needed to be ready. But he felt the weakness in his arms, the dull throbbing of his hip. He was in no condition to fight. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get Elya killed as well as himself.

The pounding cut off as abruptly as it started, and Cullen thought he saw a figure of a boy dash past one of the kitchen windows. He frowned, a boy? He filed it away as not important at this time, then went to stand. He couldn't remain as he was.

Elya, though, flew across the room, "No!" She whispered urgently, and her hands pressed against his chest, the blankets fallen to his hips. He felt her palms like a brand burning him in place. He automatically covered one hand with his, pressing her more firmly against his chest. "You must not!" Her brown eyes anxiously darted over his face. "You will hurt yourself!"

Her eyes left his to look around the room before settling on the door again. She gulped and locked his gaze once more. "Do you trust me?"

"What?" He asked, startled by the abrupt change.

"Do you trust me?" She was nervous but focused. She had something in mind.

Yes. Immediately the reply sprung to his lips, but he bit it back. Logic, where was his famed cool-headed logic? His mind spun through their short time together, trying to measure her objectively. The way she had taken him in, her practiced care with the bird, her clear unwillingness to speak of herself. How she was patient and careful and compassionate.

Cullen felt like he didn't know much about his mysterious healer, but for some reason, what he knew was enough. He nodded his head, "Yes." Somehow, someway, he trusted her. Implicitly.

Her eyes searched his once more, and she licked her lips. "Then stay here." Abruptly she stood and pulled her hands away from him. She turned and with graceful flicks of her wrists and fingers, things began to happen.

All around the room, curtains shot across the windows, hiding the view. The fire on his right disappeared, the flames and, more importantly, the smoke instantly gone. Elya pulled off her apron as she ran to the door, the milk pail that had been sitting upside down by the sink flying to one hand as the other smoothed her hair.

She was a mage! Cullen's mouth gaped, twisting awkwardly around to watch Elya. She took a deep breath, refusing to look at him, and opened the door as if nothing were the matter, closed it normally behind her.

Shock kept Cullen's mind blank for too long. Maker's breath, Elya was a mage. And he had had no idea.

"Miss Elya," Cullen heard a female voice outside. He readjusted his grip on the fire poker. Was this an attack or something more innocent? The woman sounded haughty, but there was an edge in her voice. Nervous because she was scouting, or was it something else?

"Yes, how may I help you?" Elya's voice was perfectly modulated, no hint of the worry he had seen as she had pressed against his chest.

"Lady Valentina needs another jar of complexion cream, the lemon rinse for her hair, and…" The arrogant woman hesitated before rushing out, "A tonic for monthly menses."

Cullen blinked. Was this… a maid? Lady Valentina. Could she be from one of the noble houses nearby? Cullen still wasn't sure where exactly he was, but Orlais had far too many noble families around. He wrinkled his brow, trying to remember the name, but he couldn't place it.

"Certainly," Elya said calmly. "If you would wait but a moment, I will gather those for you." A disdainful sniff sounded from outside… from the maid? He couldn't imagine Elya making such a rude gesture.

The door opened, and Cullen tensed, preparing to spring into action if he had to. Elya walked through the door, her steps calm and unhurried. Her posture was as perfect as always, but against her skirt she straightened her fingers and held out her hand in a subtle staying motion. Cullen nodded, but turned to the door and kept ready.

It took but a moment for Elya to gather things from the shelves around her work table, yet it seemed forever as Cullen waited for the maid to appear in the doorway. But she never showed. Instead Elya made her way back outside and closed the door behind her once more.

"Here you are. The price is unchanged for the cream and rinse. The tonic is another two." There was that sniff again, and then sounds of a skirt quickly swishing away in the grass.

A minute passed before Elya came back in. She heaved out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the closed wooden door. Slowly Cullen relaxed, lowering his make-shift weapon to the floor.

Abruptly she straightened and smoothed her skirt. Without looking at him, she waved her hand again, and the fire leapt back into existence. Cullen didn't realize that he had been chilled until the heat licked at his exposed skin. He shifted back around so that he leaned against the pillows and drew the blankets back up over his shoulders, all the while watching Elya.

She crossed the small room, coins flashing as she placed them in a pouch, and then sank gracefully into the chair she had slept in. She kept her eyes lowered, folded her hands primly in her lap. Only once she was settled did she lift her near-black eyes to him, pinning him to the spot.

"You believe you are still in danger, messere." she said gently but Cullen heard the steel beneath it, "I think that it is time you told me everything."


	6. Chapter 6

Everything, huh?

Cullen let his head drop against the pillows, huffing out a breath and squeezing his eyes shut. The adrenaline of their near miss was shaking through his hands and gut. Maker's breath, he was weak. Normally, such instincts made him steady, focused; deadly to his opponent. Currently, he couldn't even stand.

If not for Elya's quick thinking, he could be discovered right now. If he were to get them both into such a situation again, he wouldn't be able to protect Elya from the consequences. If she were forewarned, they would both be better prepared to save themselves.

The ease with which he decided to tell her surprised him. He supposed it had much to do with his quick and sudden trust in her. He had been in Elya's capable hands for three days, but he scarcely remembered half of that time. A day and a half. How could he trust someone in such a short time period? It made no logical sense, and yet he did. And since that was so, he was going to tell her what she asked for.

He must have hit his head during his flight. Why else would he even think about telling her classified information? But… it was the only way, and somehow he just knew that she would not betray him. The fact that he was letting his instincts overrule his logic was incredible. He let out a huge sigh and finally spoke.

"My full name is Cullen Rutherford, and I am a Captain in the Ferelden army. It has recently come to light that Orlais was able to turn three of the Landsmeet counselors to their side, through bribery and blackmail. People we would normally have never suspected because they have been loyal for years, have held high placed positions for years. With their sudden reveal as traitors, suspicion is tearing Ferelden apart; no one is safe from speculation and fear. Those in power are baring their teeth to protect themselves first and thinking of their country second.

"It is not something that can continue. Orlais is larger, has more soldiers, more practice, and a brilliant military Emperor in Gaspard. It was a masterful move." Cullen lifted his head up and stared at where his toes made little bumps beneath his blankets. "The infighting will only lead to one outcome: Ferelden's subjugation to Orlais."

He looked to Elya, still sitting primly, her steady gaze never wavering. There was no hint of smug triumph or glee; instead he thought he read concern in the dark depths. Cullen looked away, feeling nervous as he bared so much of his country's troubles. He had never spoken of such delicate news to anyone beyond his direct superiors and subordinates before. It was very strange to tell them to both a civilian and a foreigner now.

"A few months ago, our top spy in Orlais, known only as the Nightingale, was contacted by an underground group operating in that country. They call themselves the Red Jennies, and they offered to help Ferelden win the war." Cullen shook his head as his brow wrinkled. "They said something about how they always cheered for the underdogs… I'm still not sure whether that should be encouraging or make me feel more afraid."

Cullen focused on Elya, trying to convey the significance, the great duty he had to fulfill. "With the new help, our networks compiled a comprehensive list of spies and double spies. They also uncovered a plot, one significant enough to warrant the Nightingale putting themselves at significant risk just to get the warning out. It must get to the King and the Commander before the month of Justinian."

Surprise and worry had broken through her composure. "Justinian? That is less than two months away!" She looked down, worry tightening her brow. "The journey to Ferelden from here would be at least three weeks. Then you would have to travel to Denerim…" Her eyes flitted to where his wound was hidden beneath the blankets. "And you cannot move just yet."

Her eyes locked with his, more shadowed than he had ever seen them. "However will you make it in time?"

Abruptly his useless state crashed into Cullen, anger and frustration riding him hard. "I don't know! I can't even walk; this dam- blasted wound! Ferelden is in danger, and I'm just lying in bed. How can I be doing so little?" He punched his hands into the tick mattress, fisting the blankets. He moved his legs, another blast of anger hitting him at the painful and throbbing protest his hip sent out.

"Cullen," Elya's exotic and lilting voice soothed over him, snapping him from his self-disgust. And then she was there, dress pooling around her as she knelt, one hand gentle on his shoulder. "Please, be at peace." Her hand moved in little circles, a comforting pressure through the blanket. "Breath, easy." She chanted.

Cullen's muscles released and he flopped back against the pillows, screwing his eyes closed as Elya continued to speak softly. She switched to her native language; the words unknown but the tone that of comfort. Slowly the grip of anger and uselessness was washed away by the velvet of Elya's voice and her gentle touch.

He stayed as he was, loath to disrupt the pure serenity of the moment. A picture slipped into his mind, easy and uncomplicated. He was in his same position, propped against a wall and splayed on a bed. Elya was on his lap, curled into him. Her head nestled against his neck, the sweet and tangy perfume from her herbs drifting from her loose hair. Her hand was rubbing lazy little circles on his bare chest and shoulder while the other curled trustingly around his waist.

A strange pang tightened Cullen's chest. The peace, the stillness of that picture… hurt. It brought forth other pictures, dreams that he buried so deep he rarely let himself even think about them. Because he knew they would never be. He was a soldier, and that was all he was ever going to be.

Cullen straightened and cleared his throat. "I, uh, thank you, Elya."

She trailed her fingers away, hands immediately going to settle in her lap. "Of course, Mister Cullen."

There was a beat of tension between them, something that had never happened before. Then Elya stood up with a quiet murmur and went to the kitchen. Cullen turned his head so he could see from the corner of his eye, strangely hesitant to lose all contact.

The pot of tea sat cold on the stove and Elya poured the fragrant mixture into a sturdy mug. The elegant and practiced way she performed the task reminded him of all those society debutantes, making sure to display their graceful skill to demonstrate the fact that they were perfect hostesses. He squinted at her dowdy gown and looked around the basically one room cottage. Who was she really?

She came back to him, carefully watching the liquid as she walked and settled. She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head subtly. A split second later, the tea started to warm, cradled in her now heated hands.

Right, he blinked as he remembered, Elya was a mage. He paused for a second to think on it, watching the tea start to steam just slightly before the glow of her magic vanished.

Curiously, it really didn't bother him. Perhaps it would have once… no, it would have bothered him once. But this war and the mage friends he had made, the long nights filled with deep talks and the way they had had each other's backs, they had served to vanquish his prejudices. Harris. Perkins. His men; led into slaughter and left behind.

He had to deliver the document in time. It was the only way he would be able to deal with their deaths. And once that duty was discharged, he was going to find the one who had betrayed them. The traitor.

He sighed heavily. There was no question that the traitor was well placed. And it was almost certain that Cullen knew them personally. He would need to think over every conversation he had had, do everything he could think of to discover the truth. He shied away from the monumental task at this moment though. His mind was not functioning at peak efficiency. Until he was better it did little good to know who the traitor was, nothing could happen until he was back within the folds of the army. There were many reasons to think about such a disturbing topic later. He needed to be absolutely sure, not guessing.

Besides, he was rambling. He couldn't stick to one topic even in his thoughts. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and along his jaw. Maker, he needed a shave.

"Here you are," Elya offered him the mug. He took it with a distracted murmur of gratitude and eagerly took a sip. The hot and sweet tea slipped easily over his tongue, bringing another wave of relief to his battered body.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he peered down at his tea hard, as if he could devise all that was inside the mug. "Elya…"

She went back to the kitchen and poured herself some tea, warming it with glowing hands as she sank back down into her chair, "Yes?"

"You are a mage," Cullen stated matter-of-factly, then paused. Should he be reacting more to the fact that she was a mage? He knew why she had concealed the fact, but should he be handling the news with more significance? In truth, though, it just did not feel like it was such an important revelation.

He supposed, in light of the fact that he was potentially carrying a document that would decide the fate of his country, he just couldn't mind that he owed his life to an apostate who was also a relative stranger. When put in those terms, Cullen just easily accepted it.

"Are you able to magically heal me?" He shifted his shoulders, hating the way he felt. Now that she was not hiding her abilities, perhaps she could do some large magics.

However, Elya shook her head, "I have done what I can, but, no. I cannot heal you bodily, as some are able to." She pressed her lips together for a moment before smiling wryly. "I am afraid that I am not a very powerful mage, and what little talent I have is aimed towards plants."

Cullen's brow knit in confusion, and she nodded at her work table. "What I am able to do is to magically maximize the potency of my herbs, to their peak efficiency. It is the reason why my tonics and mixtures are so effective." Her eyes dipped down to where his hip was concealed by the blanket before she hastily looked away. "Why I am able to foster healing at an accelerated rate."

A puzzled look came into her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning down. "Somehow… somehow, though, you are a special case, healing faster than I expected. At faster rates than I have ever been able to induce before. Your recovery is not as instantaneous as Spirit Healing, but it is certainly beyond normal. It is like… something just wants you to become well again, and it is speeding your recovery." She shook her head in bewilderment, "I wish I knew what it was."

"Does that mean I can leave this dam-dashed country soon, then?" Cullen's heart jumped, urgency having him lean forward and grab at the sheet.

Elya's eyes flew to his, her lips parted slightly. "Oh, ah," she looked away, her lashes fluttering. "Of course you are eager to continue on your way." Her lips pressed together for a moment, but when she looked back, she was completely calm again. "I truly do not know. I can only keep helping you to the best of my abilities. And the best thing for you to do is stay still and rest."

Cullen felt as if he had been hit upside the head, unsure of how he was supposed to feel at this news. Frustrated at his inactivity, disappointed he could not leave right away, confused at this mysterious helping agent, and worry for his mission; he definitely understood those.

But the relief? He should not be feeling relieved at the fact that he would not be leaving here right away. His duty overrode any personal… feelings he may have. He had to leave Orlais. The document had a much higher chance of successfully ending up in the right hands if he could just get it to Ferelden.

His feelings were not important. Duty. Duty, first and foremost.

He turned and stared into the fire. Maker, he really was sick still. This fever was making him think of things he had no business thinking of.

"The document," he murmured, breaking from such maudlin thoughts. He grabbed the neatly folded halves of his ripped and stained shirt, bringing it to his lap. He winced as he saw all the holes, the blood soaked through. He had cursorily assured himself that the packet the document was held in was safe, but now he needed to know for certain.

"Elya," he kept his eyes on the shirt, a little afraid to look at the serene woman, "Do you have some small shears? Ones suitable for cutting thread?"

"Yes," she stood and crossed the room, her footsteps delicate and light with her graceful walk. As she went to her work table, Cullen tossed the back of his shirt aside, the front the one he was interested in. He flipped it over so that the inside lining was face up, and he felt along the right, lower corner. Under his probing fingers, the slight resistance in material revealed the packet's resting spot.

"Here," Elya said softly, handing him the small pair of sheers. He thanked her absently as he accepted them, focused on the tiny stitches that ran along the hem, but he felt that she remained next to him, watching what he was doing.

Again, a flicker of unease worked through him. He was bothered by the fact that he was not bothered. He did not care that she would be privy to the secret. He truly did trust her, and it was maddening.

His fingers were almost too big for the tiny sheers, but the size proved beneficial for the careful cutting he needed. He worked at the stitches that anchored the packet to the hem, and within seconds it was free. A small square of white leather fell into his waiting hand, smaller than his palm. The leather was stained, but there were no holes marring it. A very good sign.

He flipped the packet around, peering at it hard, until he finally made out the almost invisible line that marked where the leather had been sealed shut over itself. Gently, he worked at the glue, peeling back the white leather to reveal another piece beneath, this one supposedly waterproof. However, Cullen was not new to this method of carrying secret information, and he had found that it did not always remain so protected. He would need to make sure.

The second piece of leather was darker, the seam even more invisible. Very slowly he worked his fingers along the material until he found the release, and peeled it away. Underneath it, the creamy color of vellum was revealed.

The paper was folded small, a method used for its disguise. Cullen set aside the two pieces of leather, and carefully spread the document open on his lap.

The revealed words made no sense, jumbled and interspersed with numbers and signals. But everything was legible; none of his blood had made it inside and smeared the ink. Perhaps he had a chance of saving Ferelden after all.

Elya cocked her head as she frowned down at the paper. "I assume it is in some sort of code? That, or Ferelden has far stranger names than I ever knew."

A smile tugged at Cullen's lips, a strange pull from his new cut. "Ferelden does have some strange names, I grant you." He allowed himself to look at her. There was a sparkle of amusement in her eyes, a slight upturn of her lips.

"Oh Maker. Are all your parents so foolish as to name their children," she took a quick glance down to the paper and shook her head, "Vyeun-four-star-shi?"

Cullen's laugh rumbled out of his chest, "Be nice, Elya! That is also my first nephew's name, and I am so very fond of him. Named after my grandfather, you know."

Elya's laugh rang out playful and true, echoing through the cottage. It shot up his spine and shivered down his limbs, heat rising in his chest. It was almost like adrenaline, swift and consuming. But instead of the trained calm that followed it, Cullen felt only his heart beating fully in his chest, his blood racing. Elya's real laugh affected him unlike any he had come across.

He froze, transfixed by the throaty sound. It was just the fever making him so… responsive. When he was in his right mind again, he wouldn't be so foolish as to be attracted by a single laugh, no matter how delicious it was. It was just the fever; it had to be. Otherwise, he was in far too much danger.


	7. Chapter 7

Elya slowly finished her second cup of tea, battling the exhaustion she felt dragging her down. The sun had set a little while ago and Mister Cullen, no, Mister Rutherford now, had been asleep since he had carefully refolded the coded missive and replaced the leather around it. He had tucked it back inside the ruins of his shirt, and then promptly fallen asleep.

It was probably for the best. Their scare earlier could not have aided with his recovery, and rest really was the most effective thing he could do. Elya knew that he hated the forced inactivity, and it was only going to get worse the longer he was confined to a prone position.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes, tracing the contours of his compelling face. He did look better, but he was too pale, still battling infection and blood loss. His broad shoulders were slumped against the pillows, his head rolling to the side. Exactly as he had been sleeping earlier. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, and she brought her cup up to hide it.

The calming tea radiated its warmth through her body, relaxing sore muscles to the best of its abilities. However, it was not a miracle potion, as she was keenly aware of. Her back ached and her neck twinged from sleeping upright last night and sleeping on the thin cushion of blanket the night before. Although she was no longer worried that Mister Rutherford would succumb to his injuries, she didn't see her sleeping circumstances changing for tonight. She would be back in this chair with a blanket around her.

Now that he was aware, she just could not curl up on the floor as she had that first night. It was embarrassing enough to sleep in the chair with him in the same room, but it was far better than lying on the ground, no matter the distance separating them. She had some dignity, even if it was a poor amount at that.

Mister Rutherford muttered in his sleep, and he rolled partially towards her. Instantly he winced as he put pressure on his stitches, righting himself and kicking out with his legs. His arms jerked out from beneath the blankets, moving for a moment in wild confusion before he crossed them over his stomach. He was restless even in sleep, flexing different muscles as if he were testing them. It would be a miracle if she could keep him stationary for another day, and she knew she would need to continue to help him to the best of her abilities. In that vein, she knew that he would need another retouch on his salves, and it looked like he was on the verge of waking.

She drained her cup and rose with an inaudible groan, daintily covering her yawn with her fingers. With quiet steps she crossed to the kitchen and placed her cup in the sink, turning and looking at their dinner. Another hearty meal, this time of stew, sat on the oven gently boiling. She usually did not eat so lavishly, but his circumstances required the large and filling meals she was providing.

She had not lied to Cullen earlier; she was not a strong mage. She usually used her abilities just a little each day: a spell to keep her ice box frozen, a little magic to light the stove fire, or candles for her luxury of reading before bed. Most of her magic went into making her potions, manipulating the potency of the herbs. With her typical amount she had used today and then her added manipulation of the fire and the very draining magic of moving the curtains during the maid's visit, Elya was scrapping at the bottom of the barrel. She did not have the strength currently to bring the stew to an instant boil, so it was slowly cooking. The smells of the savory broth and warming bread filled the room, setting her stomach to grumbling, but she had been grateful for the chance to sit while it finished.

She knew she was disoriented, cast beyond her normal routine into a situation she felt distinctly out of control of. When she had moved to Orlais, she had come for the purpose of living an invisible, quiet life. She cherished the simplicity of her solitude and the satisfaction of a hard day's work. True, somedays could be challenging, and she did occasionally miss companionship. Usually her visits into the village cured her of such delusions; the narrowmindedness and sneering hostility were the same as she had suffered through before…

But Cullen, Mister Rutherford, was different. He did not know of her parents and her past, but he did know she was a mage, and he still treated her with respect. It was lovely to be treated so, for him to not view her with any prejudices. He was…

Well, nevermind what she thought he was. The real truth of the matter was that he was in very serious danger. He wanted to leave as soon as possible, and she absolutely agreed with him. The longer he stayed here, the greater the chance of his discovery. Of course he wanted to leave Orlais; there were no good memories here in this country at war with his own.

Elya swallowed hard, ignoring the strange tightness of her throat. It did not make a difference to her what his course of action was. As long as she was not caught with him, his leaving would not change her life. She would continue as before. Just the quiet country witch whom the villagers pretended did not exist to the best of their abilities. If not exactly happy, she would continue on, contented with her situation.

She took the lid off the stew and stirred it absentmindedly, her dark eyes unfocused as she gazed at the clean pots hanging on the wall. She was doing everything she could for him, and she was impressed with his progress… but it was still odd just how quickly he was responding to her methods. He was sitting up, feeling well enough to be grumpy. Surely, in normal cases, he would still be feeling too ill at this stage? The Maker had been ready to take him just three days ago; why was he healing at such a preternatural state?

She turned and looked at her other patient, the little rabbit in her cage. After Mister Rutherford had fallen asleep, Elya had turned her attention to her. The cut on her was also healing quite rapidly; had Elya's last tweak in the recipe somehow created something far more potent than expected? Short ears swiveled around the room as the little rabbit happily munched on some herb stalks Elya had placed inside. The little black eyes met hers, no longer terrified, no longer in pain. Elya shook her head; at the rate the rabbit was also healing, she could be released tomorrow. She just needed to remove the stitches.

Had some sort of being possessed this house? Elya knew of spirits, the earlier years of her life having brought her into contact with many examples of the benefits spirits could provide. But Elya had never summoned one here, had not spoken to one. Her training had given her such knowledge, but she had never had a reason to attempt such a thing herself. A spirit of healing? Of compassi-

A grunt pulled her from such thoughts, and she looked to where Cullen was pushing himself upwards. He was muttering lowly under his breath, the only word she was able to catch was 'damn'. He scrubbed one hand along his jaw, feeling the whiskers that he now sported. He leaned back against the pillows, his sigh long and heavy.

Elya hastily tested the stew and deemed it satisfactory. She ladled out a bowl and placed it on the tray, along with some crusty bread and butter. "Messere," she called to him softly, "If you are awake, you must attempt to eat."

Cullen groaned and shook his head, an uncomfortable look on his face. "What I need is a bath." His nose was wrinkled in distaste, but the look changed to delighted hunger as Elya placed the tray on his lap. He leaned over the stew and took a deep breath. "This smells wonderful." He dug into his food with relish, and Elya felt warmth spread through her chest.

She quickly stood and made her own dinner up and took it to her smaller kitchen table. They both ate in silence for a little while before Cullen spoke up again. "Is there a stream nearby?"

Elya tilted her head to the side. "For a bath?"

He nodded and liberally spread butter over a hunk of bread. "I need to wash up. This fever has left me particularly… well, I have never enjoyed being dirty overlong." Elya's eyes flitted to his dirty hair, and she pressed her lips together. It was true, he truly did need a good scrubbing.

"I have a hip bath," she finally supplied, "But you cannot use it."

The whisky of his eyes flared at her stern tone, puzzled as he settled his gaze on her, "Why not?"

"Your stitches," she locked their gaze. "You cannot submerge them in water just yet. Besides, I do not want you to exert yourself by walking or climbing into a tub. At this point it would be too much for your hip."

He looked down at his bowl, obviously not pleased with her pronouncement. "I would be fine," he muttered petulantly, dipping his completely buttered bread into his bowl and swirling it around in the broth. Despite his verbal rebellion, he did not push the issue further, sulking as he continued his meal. Elya shook her head; were all men this childish when injured? That swift image of Cullen as a child robbed her of breath, his bottom lip sticking out in the same mulish way as now.

Quickly, she broke the silence. "It is true, however, that your wounds need to be cleaned, and more salve applied." She licked her lips and looked away, heat rising in her cheeks. Vivid pictures rose to tease her of her own hands cleaning his skin, brushing against bare flesh. Could she do that again? A little light headed, she pushed out, "I can provide you with a basin and cloth to wash with. Just be gentle around your new cuts, dab at them lightly and sparingly."

He looked up at her, a hopeful spark lighting up his face, "And my hair?"

She shook her head, a slight smile tilting her lips upwards, "I'm afraid not tonight. Let me think on it, and see if I can come up with a solution." She did have an idea, but it would require him moving across the room, a feat she was not sure he could manage. With the rate he was healing though, perhaps tomorrow.

With how antsy he was, Elya didn't want to give Mister Rutherford any reason to try to move too early. For some reason she could imagine him taking the task into his own hands and attempting too much too soon.

"Perhaps you would like to shave?" A wry note came into her voice, "You look very much like a Ferelden 'Dog Lord' as you are right now."

He light up at her question, laughing slightly, obviously wanting to take her up on her offer. He ruefully scratched at his whiskers, shaking his head, "A shave would help improve my disguise. Not many Orlesian's would be caught dead in a scraggly beard."

Elya glanced at the long hairs along his cheeks and jaw. It was perhaps unkempt, but she would not describe it as scraggly. It would seem impossible to describe anything about the man as scraggly. But it was a shame that his beard was hiding the fine planes of his face, the strong jaw and sensual lips. She forced a smile to her lips, "Orlesian vanity is something to behold. I suppose you are correct."

She turned her attention back to her food. She was just far too aware of Cullen, Mister Rutherford! She needed to stop, to focus only on his health. She could remain composed; it was not like he was going to be around for too much longer.

Elya's appetite vanished, but she forced herself to eat more, methodically working at the now tasteless meal. When she had finished enough, Elya took her dishes to the kitchen. She gathered up a basin of water and prepared the herb mixtures that Cullen would need, as well as some soap. She found the items he would need to shave and set everything to rights.

"Elya," his gentle voice brought her around, "I am finished." He was looking at her intently, as if aware of her inner turmoil.

She didn't let any of it show on her face; her training, so often useless in her solitary existence, was currently holding her in good stead. She whisked away his dishes, and quickly set up all the things she had collected, arranging them on the floor next to him. "A reminder: do not scrape at your injuries. Dab at them gently, even the cuts that are now closed. Your skin is tender, and the stitches will pull." She kept her eyes averted, picking up the little jar of salve. "When you feel they are sufficiently clean, smear a good layer of this over each of your injuries; it will keep infection out and speed your healing."

"Thank you, Elya," Mister Rutherford was already reaching for a cloth and the soap. "It will be nice to get rid of some of this grime." He seemed absorbed in the details, looking from the razor to the jar with anticipation stamped on his features.

She stood and headed towards the ladder to her loft, "I will give you some privacy, Mister Rutherford."

"Mister Rutherford?" He said softly. He was surprised, a little confused, no doubt her shift in formality a surprise to him.

After a second he called out, "Elya, wait."

Her hands on the ladder, Elya stopped. Now there was a tone to his voice, one that made her heart flutter, threw her into confusion. It was commanding, spoke of the soldier he was. But beneath it she heard a gentleness, tenderness. And it sent her pulse racing.

She gulped and slowly turned to face him. He was staring at her, little wrinkles forming between his eyebrows, the whiskey of his eyes deeper and warmer, as if someone were holding a glass up before a flame. "Yes?" She pushed out, her voice far too breathy.

"You have taken me in, cared for me, fed me, and have saved my life." His gaze never wavered, and she felt trapped in their depths. "Can we do away with this formality? Can we not be friends?"

Friends? Hot tears rushed to her eyes, tightened her throat painfully. She pressed her lips together as she blinked rapidly, as she tried to regain her ability to speak. A foreign feeling of joy, lightness, happiness filled her chest, tried to break from her as a laugh and a sob at the same time.

"Friends?" She finally choked out, "With me?"

A touch of amusement curled his lips, and he nodded steadily, "Yes, Elya, with you."

He wanted to be friends? How amazing, unexpected, and honored. It had been so long since she had been close to anyone, had been so long that she hardly remembered how good it felt to know that someone liked her, trusted her, wanted a bond with her.

A smile broke wide over her lips, her watery laugh finally erupting as she mastered her tears. "Of course we can be friends," she smiled joyously again, "Cullen."


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen opened his eyes and realized he was already awake. Frowning, he scrubbed a hand across his now clean shaven face and looked around the room. A faint glow emanated from the coals of the fire, the shadowy outlines of the furniture and of Elya in her chair just faintly visible in the darkness. He had been talking to someone, Cullen was sure of it. But now he couldn't remember what he had been saying, or who he had been saying it to. Elya was asleep, he was sure of it. Had he been speaking to a man? No… a boy?

Perhaps it was just part of his fever. Vivid dreams of talking to someone but being unsure of what was said; that seemed something that would come out of a wandering mind. Wait, though… Cullen lowered his hands down to the blankets and pulled them away from his chest, letting the cool night air wash over his skin. He was not sweaty from having just broken a fever. The air in the cottage felt a little chilly, but did not freeze him to the bone. He turned his head and looked at the fire; it gave off almost no warmth, yet he was comfortable.

An exultant rush filled him, and he just barely restrained himself from shouting in triumph. He was no longer feverish! Sometime while he had slept after his arduous task of bathing from a basin, his fever had broken and had not built back up. He was over it!

Foolish energy filled him, and Cullen wanted to stand, perhaps even dance with a beautiful woman in celebration. He moved all his limbs slowly, feeling a creaky protest as he lifted his arms above his head, linked his fingers, and pulled. He suppressed his groan; just the simple act of stretching his muscles to their limit felt wonderful. He rolled his head on his neck as best he could while lying down, working his shoulders next. He pushed out with his heels, pulling his calves taught. Then, gingerly, he rotated his thighs.

His hip vaguely protested, and he soundlessly sighed. It had been a foolish hope, that the very generous amount of Elya's salve he had smeared all over the stitches had worked a miracle, although he acknowledged that he was far further along than he expected to be. Time was going to be his enemy with such a wound, as it always was whenever he was injured. He wished he could look at the stitches and the skin beneath it, but it was too dark.

He sighed and let himself sink back into the mattress, blinking hazily at the wood above him. Besides, if he got up before Elya proclaimed he was ready, she would read him a very well-thought-out scold. Cullen closed his eyes and prepared for sleep to take him, a pleased smile playing along his lips.

* * *

The next time Cullen opened his eyes, he knew that this time he had just woken from sleep. Delicate aromas wafted through the room; Elya's special tea and breakfast. She was faintly singing again, and Cullen shifted quietly to look at where she stood in the kitchen. She had changed into a pink dress, not some sort of washed out color, but a dark, rich shade. It complimented her tawny brown skin admirably; no doubt it was beautiful on her.

Despite his feeling better, he noted grumpily, his senses were still dulled. She had gotten changed from the dressing gown and night gown that must have been hidden underneath the voluminous white material that she had slept in last night, and he hadn't heard her. Her hair was redone in another simple bun, her bearing just as collected and genteel as always, despite the fact that she was preparing a meal. The woman just was one contradiction after the other.

The pleasure she had taken in his request to be friends, how she had been brought to tears, told him that such a thing was rare for her. For some reason, she did not have friends, did not have company. And he was baffled by it. She had easily been the best friend he could have asked for, all in an instant. He didn't think he would count anyone, outside of his men, as good of a companion. And no matter what happened in the long run, he was going to try to be as good of a friend to her as she had been to him. Sadness pulled at his chest. She might be his only one left.

Elya's lilting voice as she sang her low, sweet song swept over him, and he smiled and relaxed into his pillow. Since their agreement, things had become more… relaxed, he supposed, a greater closeness fostered between them. He wondered if Elya even realized that she was singing, if she was comfortable enough with him in the room to fall into old habits. Maker, if he knew the words, maybe Cullen would have even joined her. He hadn't sung in weeks, not since he had landed in Orlais; no doubt he was rusty. And he liked the thought of singing with a friend once more.

The end of last night had highlighted the change in their relationship. When he had finished liberally splashing himself with soap and water, he had obediently followed her instructions to care for the cuts currently stitched together, plus the numerous others that did not warrant the plying of her needle. It had taken far longer than he had expected, and far more energy than it should have, curse his weakened state.

He had finally finished and shaved quickly, then collapsed against the propped up pillows, exhausted once more. He had called out for her, and she had quickly slipped down the stairs. He had averted his eyes, despite having known he would have most likely received a pretty flash of her ankles. But he would not behave so brutishly toward his friend; she deserved that respect. She had been brighter somehow, more at ease with his company. She had trusted him when he had told her he had followed her orders, and laughed when he had confided how annoyed he was with his body's limitations.

She had heated up more tea for the two of them, and they had drunk it together, talking about her magical abilities with her plants, and about Cullen's time in the army. He had glossed over the more horrible parts, instead telling her funny stories of his soldiers. She had laughed at their exploits, clucked sympathetically at their punishments, and in general had been more animated than Cullen had seen her before. It still warmed his chest when he remembered her laughter.

When he had started to yawn, she had helped him settle back down and doused the lights, the room settling into a comfortable darkness. Cullen had fallen asleep with a smile on his face, well pleased with his progress.

He hoped that it would continue today as well, that the cozy feeling of last night did not disappear with the dawn. With that hope in mind, Cullen pushed himself into sitting position, able to much more easily arrange himself so he was leaning against the heavy chest. With the blankets tucked over his chest in their customary position, he spoke up. "Good morning Elya."

She turned, her mouth shaped into a pretty bow of a smile. "Good morning Cullen. How are you feeling today?"

Cullen felt a rush of relief that she was not returning to that perfect politeness she excelled at. Apparently asking to be friends had been the key to having her open up more. His own mouth curved to match her smile, and he didn't even notice the cut on his lip. "Remarkably well. You are a miracle worker Elya; I don't know how to thank you enough."

She shook her head and waved away his compliment, "It is no bother. I only wish I could do more."

Cullen shook his head with a fond chuckle. He was quite obviously a bother, and if she were doing anything more for him, she would be swimming him to Ferelden on her back. The ridiculous image made his laugh deeper, and she quirked her brows at him but just returned to cooking. "Breakfast will be ready shortly."

When she placed his tray next to him, Cullen thanked her with all the deference he could muster. They ate together in equitable silence, Cullen too busy downing the delicious meal to talk. When finally the ache of hunger lessened, he broke the silence. "I do not think I will be sleeping as much today as I have been. Is there some task I can help you with while I am awake?"

She delicately dabbed at her mouth, a thoughtful look knitting her dark brows together. "Let me think. Well, currently I have no clothes for you. We will need to do something about that. I cannot purchase garments from the village tomorrow; it would raise too many questions." She pursed her lips together, mulling over her options. "I suppose I could purchase some cloth, but it will take quite a while to make everything up."

A spark of amusement played around the corners of her mouth as she turned her deep brown eyes to him, "I think our best option would be for me to steal some from a villager's clothes' line."

Cullen laughed, as no doubt was her intention, but he shook his head, "No, it would be too dangerous. What if you were caught?"

Elya shrugged, "They would do nothing; they are too afraid of their local Witch." A disappointed look crossed her features, "Oh. But missing men's clothing would raise unwanted suspicion, wouldn't it? Perhaps bring soldier's attention this way." She sighed, "I guess I will be buying some cloth."

Cullen did not like it. She already worked herself too hard. Without his presence, she probably usually had more time to sit and do things she enjoyed doing. Since she had taken him in, however, he had not seen her still for more than however long it took for her to finish her meal. While he could sew buttons back onto his shirts and patch small holes, he did not know how to create whole garments. Plus, for a man to not draw strange looks, and therefore unwanted attention, he really needed to have a jacket and a hat along with a shirt and breeches. Far too much for her to handle, and yet there was no other recourse he could think of at the moment.

He shook himself, vowing that when she started the process he would do what he could to help. But in the meantime… "Perhaps I could help you grind some of your herbs? I noticed you seem to do a lot of that, and I could use the meager exercise." He flexed his hands; he was eager to do something.

"Oh!" A pleased smile appeared on her face, "Yes! Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you… Cullen." She hesitated with dropping the formality, but she was making an effort.

They spent a pleasant morning together, Elya at her work table and Cullen grinding herbs to a fine powder. It was not exhausting work, but with how fine she needed the leaves to be, Cullen was definitely feeling the work in his forearms. After lunch, his work caught up with him, however, and he settled himself back down to sleep. He noticed Elya watching him critically and taking note as he more easily lay down.

He awoke again a couple hours later, to the sound of Elya pouring water into a large pot on the stove. He yawned mightily, stretching out the kinks in his back and then pushed himself up. His hip flared, but it was not pure pain, as it had been previous days. Now it was a sort of dull ache, obviously there but not at the forefront of his worries.

"You are awake, I see." Elya's voice drifted over to him, and he nodded, scrapping a lock of hair back off his forehead. He winced, feeling how disgusting it was. He had had plenty of experience with not bathing properly while in the army; it did not mean he enjoyed feeling so grimy. "Since you are awake, how would you like to try washing your hair?"

Cullen immediately twisted to look at his friend, his loud "Yes!" echoed through the cottage. Elya laughed and set a large water pail down on the ground, picking up a second and dumping it into the pot.

"I thought you might like it. First, though, I want to look at your hip. This is going to take some walking to get you to the sink, and I want to make sure you are up for it."

"Of course," Cullen agreed, keeping his eyes on her as she gracefully came and knelt at his side, "But I am feeling up for the challenge. I am ready."

Elya's eyebrows arched, "I am sure you are ready. The real question is: are you able?"

Cullen helped her gather the blankets away from his hip, keeping himself as covered as possible while he exposed the neat row of stitches she had set. His friend had been through enough indignities with him, he could spare her this. That focused look of a professional healer came over her face once more, and she looked critically at the wound. Cullen looked himself, amazed at the progress.

While still raw, it was no longer that inflamed red. The black silk kept the edges together and at parts along the cut it was actually starting to knit closed. For something like this, Cullen would expect a week and a half or two weeks before reaching this stage of healing, yet here they were at four days.

"Well?" Cullen prodded, hoping she would allow him to try the walk.

A small smile replaced her look, and she locked her eyes with his, "Yes, Cullen. Let's try it."

Cullen whooped, his excitement equal parts over washing his hair and finally moving from the damned pallet. Any longer, and he would have fused to it.

Cullen sat more firmly upright, and the blankets fell away from his shoulders. His eyes darted to Elya just in time to see her look away. Well, this was going to be an issue he hadn't considered; his nakedness would need to be concealed. "Forgive my state of undress," he murmured, trying to ignore the way heat rose in his cheeks. "If you but give me a moment, I will be ready."

Elya shook her head, keeping her eyes averted, "There is no need to apologize; you are not at fault here." She rose and turned her back to him, but she did not move far. She was always prepared to help, wasn't she?

Cullen grabbed the top blanket and folded it in half, then wrapped it around his waist, holding the ends closed above the stitches on his left hip. It would not cover his chest, but it would provide him with the most modesty. Slowly he worked his good leg beneath him, and with the use of his other arm, Cullen leveraged himself into a crouched position.

Angry pains shot up from all over his body, but Cullen ignored them. He heaved with his thighs, predominately his right one, and then he was finally standing. He leaned drunkenly to the side, his left foot light on the floor. He tried to take a step off of the mattress, but he wobbled dangerously, throwing his free arm out to keep his balance. "Elya?" Cullen licked his lips, "Do you think you could help me walk to the sink?"

Instantly she was there, sliding beneath his outstretched arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. She did not speak, which was a good thing, as Cullen wasn't sure he could say anything at the moment. Her bare hand was burning against his side, and he swore he could feel every line in her palm as she pressed into him closer, looping his arm over her shoulder. Her hip sank against his, her shoulder tucked beneath his own.

For a second he stood frozen, but then shook himself from the inappropriate thoughts. This was no way to treat a friend, and Cullen deliberately started to shamble forwards, glad for the distracting pain of the movement. Within moments he was able to banish his awareness, and he concentrated only on keeping himself upright and moving forward.

They made their way across the room to where Elya had placed one of her spindly dining chairs back against the sink. It was slow going, but the cottage was not large, a fact that he was very glad of as they reached the chair and awkwardly spun around so that he could sink onto the wood.

He sighed as he pulled on the blanket, giving himself more room in the heavy material. "Well, that was certainly brisk," sarcasm lay heavy on his tongue, "At this rate I will reach the door in a year."

Elya chuckled, "You are doing very well, Cullen. Now lean your head back against the edge of the sink, and I will wash your hair."

He slumped down to obey her, turning his head to watch as she tested the temperature of the water on the stove. She dipped her fingers in and shook her head. With a little flick, Elya's palm started to glow, and she submerged her hand in the water. No doubt she was heating it up at a faster rate than the stove could do. After a minute she nodded and lifted a pitcher, dipping it into the water and turned to him. "Close your eyes. I have never washed someone's hair before; I may not be very skillful at it."

Cullen righted his head and murmured, "Somehow I doubt that."

His eyes involuntarily closed as the first touch of the warm water, and a deep sigh slipped from his lips. The water cascaded over his head, an intensely soothing feeling as she slowly moved the pitcher, wetting every inch of his hair. The water ran out, and so she repeated it once more, and Cullen relished the feel of warm relaxation flowing through him.

"I have some soap I am going to use now," Elya's lovely voice was pitched low and quiet, as if aware of how Cullen was feeling. He hummed lightly, but he didn't think he could drag himself out of the tranquil state he was in.

For a moment there was nothing but the drip of water off the ends of his hair, then suddenly Elya's hands were easing into the mess. Cullen was slightly surprised, but it did not draw him from his peace.

Then she started to use her fingers, drawing little circles and scrubbing at his scalp. Intense tingles raced from her fingertips down his spine, and he shivered. Hard. He clamped his free hand down on his thigh, the other bunching even tighter around the blanket. Each little movement of her fingers, each accidental brush of her blunt nails, sent ripples of sensation skating over his skin and echoed everywhere on his body. Heat rose in his groin, his temperature skyrocketing, and he couldn't breathe through the strangling tightness of his throat.

Oh Maker.

Her hands continued their path from his forehead towards his neck, and she applied firmer pressure as she cleaned the dirt from his hair. Cullen felt himself start to harden, and he discretely arranged the blanket so that it bunched more over his lap, giving him some privacy. He concentrated on breathing through his nose and out his mouth, trying for some control.

Elya's ministrations paused, "Is everything alright, Cullen?" Her husky and melodic voice shot straight down to his gut, pulling him tighter. Heat followed in a great rush, and he barely suppressed the groan that threatened to break from him.

Cullen pressed his hand against his stitches, and the shock of pain broke him partially from the seductive web he was wrapped up in, just enough to respond to her in a choked voice. "I'm fine. Just knocked one of the cuts."

"Be careful," She warned, and he made some sort of agreeing noise, but she started up again and he wasn't sure what it ended up sounding like.

Cullen swallowed as he tried to keep calm. Friends? Who was he kidding? Certainly not himself anymore. He didn't want to be just friends with Elya, he wanted so much more than that. The joyous expression on her face when he had asked her last night returned to him, a sharp contrast to the desire now pounding through his veins.

It would hurt her if she knew he did not see her as a friend, kill the trust between them. And he never wanted to hurt her.

Shit. He inwardly growled as another wave of sensation rippled through him, making his muscles strain with the effort to not react.

He had fucked up.


	9. Chapter 9

Elya struggled to remain collected as she moved her fingers through Cullen's hair. She carefully circled her fingers, the soap turning brown with the dirt caked into the strands. With the water, his hair felt fine and soft, gentle against her hands. Her eyes flicked down to where Cullen's lashes were fanned over his cheeks, his eyes closed. He held himself tensely, the strain obvious on the way his jaw was tightened, how his shoulders were stiff.

It was a shockingly intimate act; she wondered if Cullen felt it too with the way he had become so motionless. If anything about their relationship were normal, it would be unlikely they would ever be in such a position, her hands in his hair. Even if she were a lowly maid, they would never be like this. He would wash his hair himself, or if he were unable to, then his manservant would aid him. The only reason she would be doing this was if she were a lover. Heat stained her cheeks even as she kept her motions steady.

Did he realize it? Is that why he had gone rigid? Elya glanced again at his face as she moved to his neckline. Cullen's eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth compressed into a thin line. The healing cut bisecting his upper lip was flushed pink, although the skin around it was white. His nostrils were flared as he took steady, deep breaths. He looked in pain. Elya shook her head as she turned back to her work, scolding herself. He had told her he had hit his stitches and from his expression that was obviously what he had done.

The suds dripping from his hair were starting to become that milky white of clean, and Elya slipped her hands away. She turned and refilled the pitcher with clean water, and then carefully poured it over Cullen's strands. Washed away, the foam revealed hair that was light brown, but not as it had been. Dirt had made it darker than it was, the water also disguising its true shade. But Elya was certain that when it was dry, it would be golden.

She carefully swallowed away the heat of acknowledgment. She had always found blond such an attractive color, and when paired with Cullen's nature and his defined physicality… no doubt he would be remarkably popular. In a Society filled with idle Lords and Ladies, anyone would notice a man like him, one who was full of vitality and handsome as sin. Perhaps, at one point, she and Cullen would have met each other in different circumstances… perhaps they would have…

Elya pushed away the thought, shaking her head at her past as she rinsed out the last of the soap. If they had met before, they would not be as they were now. Elya would not have gained Cullen's friendship, and she felt physical pain at the thought. She would not be who she was now, nor would Cullen. Besides, it was futile to dwell in what could have been.

"All done," Elya set the pitcher in the sink and regained her calm core, grabbing up a towel and wrapping it around his hair. "Would you like me to dry your hair for you?" Her hands hovered above the cloth, waiting to see what he would like.

For a moment Cullen remained motionless, and she almost wondered if he had heard her. Then with a grunt, Cullen shifted in the chair, pushing himself back and straightening so that he no longer was leaning against the sink. "No, thank you, Elya." He brought his free hand up and palmed the towel, "I've got it." He vigorously scrubbed at his hair, uncaring that he was most likely creating tangles.

Elya just shook her head and turned to cleaning up, giving both of them space. She still felt a little off kilter, and Cullen was furiously drying himself, perhaps working off some of the pain. She said nothing; she had a feeling he would not like her drawing attention to the state he was in.

She took the soap back to her work table and turned around just in time to see Cullen drop his hand, the towel clenched in his fist, and sigh greatly. His hair was a wild mop; tendrils sticking out in every direction, and in the drying strands Elya could see little curls starting to form. The boyish look of messiness slipped warmth into her chest, a slight smile spreading over her lips. "Feeling better?"

Cullen opened his eyes and met her, another of those bashful half-smiles adding to his charm, "Very much so. Thank you. Remarkable how such a simple thing can help with your mood."

Elya laughed lightly, "Yes, it is such a simple pleasure, but it is infinitely comforting." Speaking of comfort… Elya turned to the pallet of blankets and pillows on the ground. She stripped away the used sheets from the mattress and the pillows, noting with satisfaction the only small amounts of blood staining them. It appeared she had done well with stopping his bleeding, and Cullen had done well by not aggravating his wounds too much.

Elya gathered up the dirty linens in her arms and stood. A slow roll of blackness swept over her, and she froze herself as best as possible, but she knew that she swayed slightly. Her eyes slammed shut, and she breathed through her mouth as she fought the uncomfortable feeling.

"Elya?" Cullen asked sharply, and she heard the concern in his voice.

The feeling passed quickly, just a head rush. Most likely caused by the lack of good sleep she had been enduring for the past few days. She forced a smile to her lips as she turned to Cullen. "I'm fine. I just stood up too quickly."

Cullen frowned at her, half pushed up from his chair. She smiled reassuringly, "Truly, I am well." Cullen's dark whiskey eyes roamed over her face before he slowly settled back down. Elya turned towards the hamper she placed her dirty linen, a fond amusement now taking over her mood. What had he expected to do? His left hand still held the blanket around his hips, and he was not able to do more than totter on his feet. They would have most likely both ended up on the floor. Dear man.

Within minutes, Elya had remade Cullen's sleeping area with fresh linens and arranged things so that he could return. "Are you ready to lie back down?"

A look of horror crossed his face as he stared at the rather inviting looking bedding. "No," he breathed out, shaking his head. Locks of hair fell over his forehead, a pinched look on his lips. "No, please." He looked around the room and his eyes latched onto her high-backed and overstuffed chair. "There, I can sit there."

Elya hesitated for a moment, looking between the bed and him. "Very well," she said slowly. It probably would be best for him to be resting laid out flat, but it was obvious that the thought was repugnant to him. It really was not surprising when she thought about it. He was not happy staying still, stuck in one place.

Cullen pushed himself up from the chair, once again standing with a slight list towards his right side. He shuffled forward on his own, intense concentration on his face.

"Cullen," she gasped and flew to his side. She boldly interjected herself between his arm and body, taking some of his weight across her shoulders. He made some sort of noise, gratitude or annoyance she did not know. The few steps he had taken had been significantly steadier than his earlier trip to the sink, but they had still been slow and halting. With Elya's support, though, they made an easier shamble to the chair.

It was… comforting, Elya noticed, feeling the solid warmth of his body pressed to her side. She felt safe, protected, tucked beneath his arm. He was taller than her by a hand's breadth, powerful despite his current predicament. She moved with him as his crutch, but he barely put any pressure on her shoulders, instead he worked his awkward gait so that he bore most of his own weight. She wished that he would let her help more, but suspected that pride was at play as he pushed himself. He would not make use of her any more than this.

They reached the far wall and their destination of the chair. Cullen extracted himself from her hold, and she backed away to give him space. Gingerly he grasped one arm with his free hand and lowered himself down so that he settled on the cushions, shifting slightly to ease the pressure on his hip. Elya thought that there might have been little beads of moisture on his brow, but from pain or from having his hair washed, she couldn't tell.

"Cullen? Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

His lips were pressed together in a straight line, white with the pressure again. He leaned his head back against the chair and sighed. "No," he shook his head and adjusted himself again, "No, I am fine. I just need to catch my breath." He was most likely not telling her the whole truth, although the slight breathlessness to his voice confirmed what he said.

She didn't push. Instead, she forcefully made her hands steady as she crossed them over her skirt. She fell back onto her deeply ingrained manners, forging through the strange new impulse to touch him, for intimacy. They may be friends now, but she thought there were some lines she should not cross. "I will make us some tea," she murmured and made her way to the stove.

When he had a cup of warm tea in his hands, Elya gathered up the dirty laundry. "I will be just outside. If you need anything, please call for me." Cullen nodded and sipped at the liquid, the brackets still visible around his mouth.

Elya drew her eyes over him once more. He looked vital and raw, so potently male it was a little dizzying. His strong calves were on display, the blanket falling only to below his knees. His wide torso was littered with healing cuts and bruises, but the strength in the defined muscles was not diminished. His big hands cradled the mug, the piece of pottery large enough for him. She wondered what he would look like holding the tiny teacups that were required in polite Society. She did not think he would look ridiculous, like some men could. She didn't think Cullen could ever look ridiculous.

His hair was drying quickly, and with the dirt gone, the natural shape of his hair came out. Little golden ringlets were starting to curl, and she watched as he ruthlessly pushed them back off his forehead, the strands tangling with each other to stay in place. Evidently, Cullen did not appreciate the misbehavior of his curls. As a soldier, no doubt he liked an order that his naturally messy hair did not provide. A faint smile touched her lips; she wondered if he ever put something in it to keep it off his face.

Shaking off such fanciful thoughts, Elya left the cottage and immersed herself in chores. The laundry was washed and hung up on the clothesline to dry in the slight breeze that rustled the leaves in the forest. She turned her attention to her barn, cleaning up after the chickens in their coop and letting her cow Tansy out to the grassy area. She then spent time in her garden, pulling weeds and caring for the herbs and vegetables.

When she returned inside, some hours had passed, but Cullen looked as if he had not moved. There was a deeply cut frown on his face, his eyes distant. He had both hands wrapped around the mug resting on his lap, and she hoped that it still did not have tea in it. She moved quietly as she deposited the fresh herbs at her work table and then to his side.

Gently she asked, "May I take your cup?"

"Oh," he started and blinked from his reverie. He smiled slightly as his lovely eyes came back to the present and met hers and he raised the mug in offering, "Yes, of course."

Elya's fingers brushed his own, tendrils of sensation sparking up her arms. She hesitated; it seemed intrusive to ask, yet perhaps he would want to share with her what he had been thinking of. "You seemed deep in thought, and it was not something that you enjoyed."

Cullen palmed his neck, rubbing as he stretched. Elya cast her eyes downward; the close ripple of muscle was again too intimate. She studied the empty mug as he righted himself and sighed gustily. "No," he shook his head, and Elya again met his eyes. "It is not a subject that I wish to think on. But now that mind is not clouded with fever, it is my duty." He seemed to struggle with himself, his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth.

"Perhaps," she volunteered timidly, "talking about it with me would help?" What was troubling him so?

He smiled slightly, but there was no humor in the curve of his lip. "I think I already know it all, unfortunately." His eyes took on that distant look once more and he was silent for a beat. "I have been trying to discern who it was that betrayed our location. Who the traitor is."

Elya held her breath as she sank to her knees, her hands wrapped around the armrest, the mug wobbling on the floor. "Oh Maker." She tentatively reached out and laid a hand on his forearm, feeling the tenseness in his frame and offering comfort as best she could. "You think you know who?"

His left hand covered hers and held on, his expression so distant she wondered if he even knew that she had touched him and he had returned the gesture. "There are very few people who knew what my mission was." He frowned, counting through them. "The Nightingale, but she risked her life just to compile the list. Lace Harding, but again, she was the one who made sure the list got to me. The King and the Commander are the ones who told me of my mission, but I think we can rule them out."

Surprise bubbled up in Elya. He had spoken with them directly?

Cullen again pulled himself from his thoughts and smiled lopsidedly at her, and Elya suddenly realized she had spoken aloud. A blush rose to her cheeks, hopefully concealed by her tan, but Cullen did not look upset at the interruption. "Yes, I frequently meet with them." He confessed, "Actually, I have known them since the Blight. Back before they were married, when they were newly recruited Grey Wardens."

Elya gaped in wonder. Everyone knew of the legend of Ferelden's King and Queen. How they had struggled against impossible odds and united Ferelden's people together. Of the battle where they killed the Archdemon, ending the Blight and saving the country within an incredibly short amount of time. How King Alistair had ascended the throne and married Elissa Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden. But instead of being content to be a figurehead, Queen Elissa had taken over the struggling armies of the country and had become the Commander as well, holding back the mightier armies of Orlais. They were a strong and, by all accounts, a loving couple, a romantic pair that couples and countries around Thedas looked to in envy.

And Cullen had known them for years? Perhaps, if her life had not taken such an abrupt turn, Elya would have met them too, although it would have been doubtful she would have ever really known them.

She shook her head from the fairytale of it, instead focusing back on Cullen's unpleasant thoughts. "I do think you may safely rule them out of your betrayal."

Her words brought the hardness back to Cullen's features, and Elya silently mourned the change. "Yes. There were a few others who would have been privy to the information but… no one knew the route that my men and I would take. We didn't know it ourselves until we received the packet and started to make our way back, having to adjust as we went."

Elya felt her heart start to beat harder, a pit yawning in her stomach. She saw where Cullen was headed, saw the conclusions he had drawn from the facts. Cullen's voice roughened as he forced out the words. "The Chevalier's knew exactly what road we were on, knew exactly what time we would be there. Their attack was swift and vicious; they did not seek prisoners for information, they were attempting to kill all of us. They already knew everything. When I left-" Cullen's voice broke and he gulped back the emotions she could see playing through his eyes. "When I left them, the Chevalier's came after me. They knew that I had the list."

He lowered his head and took a shuddering breath. His hand curled over hers more and tightened, holding onto her as if she were a lifeline. "One of my men, one of the men that I handpicked, trusted with not just my life, but the future of our country and all those in it, betrayed us. Because of that trust I had in him, everyone else died, slaughtered on the road while he stayed comfortably in the Inn."

Suddenly his head jerked up and his gaze collided with hers, potent, powerful. Elya froze, unable to breath at the impact of his darkened whiskey gaze, at the pain he was in. "If it were not for you, I would be the same way. Many in Ferelden as well. Dead. Samson will answer for his treachery."


	10. Chapter 10

Cullen was quiet the rest of the night, lost in thought. He was obviously upset by what he had discovered, the frown rarely leaving his face. Elya continued to quietly complete her tasks, letting him have time to think, time to consider all the repercussions of now knowing who had betrayed him.

She couldn't imagine what he must be feeling right now. He had trusted this Samson, and it had led to deaths that now weighed heavily on his conscious. Elya didn't know if there had been signs that had pointed to Samson's betrayal, but she knew that Cullen would not forgive himself easily regardless. He just was that kind of man.

She wished she could do something for him. After he had told her, Elya had stayed kneeling next to his side for a long span of time. He had been completely lost in thought, holding on to her tightly. She had been happy to be there for him, would have stayed as long as he needed her. Unfortunately, her legs had started to ache, and she had shifted slightly. That small movement had surprised him and he had instantly released her hand. "I'm sorry Elya. Please, get up, I will be fine," he had faked a smile and waved away her questions before she had asked them. She had reluctantly stood, feeling old and stiff as she moved. She could have tried to stay, but she didn't think that Cullen would have let her.

Elya suppressed a yawn that was hard on the heels of others tonight; she just couldn't seem to stop. She wasn't able to cover it, her hands currently occupied with pouring a new type of tea; a beverage that she hoped would make Cullen sleep more easily. She refrained from pouring some for herself; she was going to have no issue with that. Their almost silent dinner had brought a halt to her productivity, and if she had any of this tea she was going to fall asleep standing up.

She brought the steaming mug over to Cullen and softly spoke, "Here. Drink this, please." Cullen's golden whiskey eyes drifted from the mug to her face, the far-off expression easing slightly. "It will help you sleep tonight. And heal." She tacked on; suddenly aware he was probably even more anxious to leave now than ever before.

A swift pull of darkness hurt her chest. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly, and she looked away, smoothing her face to show nothing of what she was feeling. She was… unhappy with that realization. Saddened by the inevitable loss of a friendship she was only just starting to realize or enjoy. It was painful; more painful than the last time she had lost friends. They had all backed away, afraid of the scandal, afraid that they would be tainted by association. She hadn't known them long, just about six months, but it had hurt to see them turn away. Cullen she had known for far shorter of a time, and yet the looming emptiness ahead of her was more powerful than any of the losses she had faced besides the deaths of her parents.

Cullen remained silent, saying no words of thanks as his fingers brushed hers accepting the cup. She could feel his eyes on her, a coaxing to look at him. Tension thickened in the air, and she couldn't resist his pull any longer. She turned and met his gaze, trying to keep her emotions off her face. His darkened eyes saw far too much, a curious look she did not understand shimmered in their magnetic depths. It made her heart thump, her chest growing somehow both warmer and tighter.

She shied away from it, felt too fragile to let him know the confusing mix of what she was feeling. So she pretended. "What is it?" She touched her fingers to her cheeks, "Is there something on my face?" She almost winced; too exaggerated.

There was a shift in his eyes, understanding taking over that slightly frightening look. He knew what she was doing… and he was going to pretend with her. For her. He shook his head slowly, reforming the words he had been going to say. "No, there is nothing on your face," He paused for a moment before he asked, "How long has it been since you had a proper night's sleep?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks, flushing at the words. She looked exhausted, didn't she? She shifted away, pressing her palms fully to her cheeks, uncharacteristically flustered. "I have been sleeping perfectly well, thank you. I am just a little tired, that is all."

Cullen's voice was gentle and chiding, "You don't need to hide it from me."

Elya heard the truth behind his words: she could tell him anything. Her hands slipped down to hang at her sides, a hot rush of emotions conflicting in her chest. That he would listen to her, would talk with her about anything she wanted to confide.

But there was more to it, wasn't there? He also didn't want her to lie to him.

After what he had just been through, he would want truth. These small lies were not ones that truly mattered, little white lies to conceal private emotions. But what about everything else she was concealing? She had never spoken an untruth about herself to him, but she had held back from revealing almost anything. Would he hate her for hiding it from him? Would it matter if he never found out? He would be in her life for so short a time.

Should she tell him? Common sense and her personal pride protested mightily. No, she just couldn't tell him. His friendship would turn to disgust and anger, and she couldn't bear the thought.

In this matter, though, this little white lie, she could come clean.

She pivoted and faced him again, her lips pressed together. Haltingly, she forced herself to speak. "It has been… a few nights. Since before you arrived, I suppose."

Cullen's jaw firmed, and his eyes narrowed. He bit back his initial response, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he commanded. "Tonight, you will sleep on your bed."

"Cullen," she protested, shaking her head. "No. You need the rest more than I do. Your hip-"

His hand sliced through the air, cutting off her protest. "My hip will be fine. I will stay in this chair for tonight."

Elya couldn't deny the wave of longing that rolled over her. To sleep on a real bed, to lie down. It was so tempting, something that she wanted to give into, but Cullen's needs came first. "Really, Cullen. I will be perfectly alright spending a few more nights sleeping upright."

Cullen's face softened, his voice gentled as well. "Please Elya. I will not be getting much sleep tonight, in spite of your magical tea. Somethings will just not come easily." Elya pressed her lips together again. She knew the truth of that, had experienced it for herself for seeming years when she had been younger.

"You have taken care of me so selflessly, with not a word of complaint. Let me do something for you in return. It isn't much, I know, but I would feel better knowing that you were sleeping well." His eyes were darkened, his concern and worry showing through.

She sighed, and another bothersome yawn that she had been studiously ignoring broke through her control. She covered the unladylike impulse with her hand, her eyes watering with how strongly the exhaustion rolled over her. When she finally was able to, she smiled sheepishly. "Oh, very well," she complied. She spoke as if she was grudgingly giving in to his demands, but they both knew she was again acting.

A soft smile curved Cullen's lips as he relaxed against the chair's back, "Good. I am glad." His golden curls lay in soft waves back from his forehead, his big body concealed only by the blanket tucked around his waist. The impact of his pleasure was powerful and again too intimate.

Elya turned, needing to regain her composure. She breathed through the tightness in her chest, gradually letting her body come back into control. "Very well," she finally spoke. "But tomorrow, I expect you to rest while I am away." And with that, she scurried up the ladder to the relative privacy of the loft.

* * *

Cullen had slept some, he supposed. But whenever he had, nightmares had plagued him. Samson laughing over corpses, the accusing eyes of young Perkins, Harris, and Hagman staring at him. Instead he had spent most of his time watching over Elya as she slept.

The fire had quickly burned too low for him to see anything clearly, but he knew the gentle swell beneath the blankets was her, the tumble of her almost black hair stark against the pillow. She had changed into her voluminous night clothing, slipped beneath the blankets, and had promptly fallen asleep. Her even, gentle breathing had become the measure with which he followed, the peacefulness helping combat some of the twisted emotions that refused to leave him.

He needed to return to Ferelden, to get the list to the Commander. And as soon as he did, he knew what his next orders would be. To find Samson, no matter where the spineless traitor was hiding, and bring him back to pay for his deeds.

And there was a good chance that Cullen would not succeed in his task. Would, in fact, not survive it. Currently, Cullen knew everyone believed he was either missing in action or dead, and missing in action almost always meant dead. As soon as he was confirmed alive, though, Samson would widely make his identity known and Cullen would become a targeted man. All his previous anonymity would be gone.

This was his lot, though, and his punishment for letting it all happen. He was a soldier, and in recent years, his duties as a soldier had taken on more covert operations. He knew who else their Majesties could send on the task instead, but none of them had as strong of a chance as he did, despite everything. Even if he succeeded in bringing Samson to justice, every agent of Orlais would know who he was.

He calculated that he would not survive a year. Then he would join the men he had led to slaughter, killed in the enemy's lands and left to rot, nameless and alone.

Cullen sighed and dropped his head back to thud against the chair. Well, he supposed that was that. Maker knew that Cullen would never shirk from his duties. And he had too much to make up for. Had to give his friends their chance at vengeance through him. Even without that, though, he had too much ingrained honor to allow himself to back away.

For a brief moment, Cullen let himself dream. What if he did break from his responsibilities? What if, when he returned to Ferelden and gave the Commander the list, what if he sold his commission? He was trapped in this soldiering life, trapped by his abilities and valuable experience. What would his life be like if he could become just a normal man?

Longing filled him, made his chest ache and his breathing ragged. He closed his eyes and pictured home. When he had been granted his title, Bann of Honnleath, he had also gained a small keep. It was not a real keep, more a small mansion he and his siblings had renamed Rutherford Hall. It was a wonderful place, a pleasant upgrade from their family farm. But best of all, it had come with land. Fertile land, perfect for farming.

Cullen ached for that green simplicity, ached to be surrounded by life and growth and away from all the lies and death. He had been stupid and foolish as a child, not knowing just how good his life had been surrounded by a loving family and all he had needed.

His brother Branson was running the estate now, and from all accounts doing a good job. But Cullen would take over, and with the small fortune he had amassed he would buy Branson a place of his own. Or perhaps he would want to do something else, and Cullen would help how he could. Cullen would become the simple country farmer, happily living at Rutherford Hall. When he wanted a change of pace, he would go visit Mia and her husband in society, where Rosalie was just starting her first Season.

This dream was one that Cullen had held tightly to his chest, had spoken of it to no one before. His men didn't need to know that he wanted more; they all wanted more, wanted out. They each had their own dreams they secretly polished, kept secret and bright.

Cullen opened his eyes, his gaze latching on Elya's sleeping form. For the first time, he realized that his dream was missing something. Perhaps…

A sudden image of Elya at Rutherford Hall rose, perfectly complementing the fantasies he had woven. She fit seamlessly into the picture: standing next to him as he looked at the new lambs playing in the grassy meadows, riding with him as they looked over fields of wheat, in the library as they discussed new farming techniques. New pictures easily slipped into the fantasy: Elya in a work room, dried herbs hanging from the rafters and neatly organized shelves filled with bottles, and herb garden bursting with life that she tended, the Master Bedroom's closets filled with dresses and Elya asleep beneath the blankets in bed.

Cullen lifted shaking hands and scrubbed them down his face. Maker, he wanted… so much. But it was not going to be. He would never leave Ferelden to her fate while she needed him, at war with a powerful enemy. The perfect picture he had painted wouldn't come to life if Orlais overran his country.

He had his responsibilities, his duties as an officer and a gentleman, and he would never abandon them.


	11. Chapter 11

His chest hurting, Cullen suddenly couldn't stay still any longer. He forcibly turned his eyes away from Elya and planted his feet on the floor. Gripping the blanket, he pushed himself to a stand. He shifted on his feet, placing pressure more fully on his left side. It actually did not hurt much anymore. Elya was a miracle worker. He just felt weak, his muscles wasted from his inactivity.

He gritted his teeth; there was no time like the present.

It was about an hour before sunrise, which seemed to be when Elya naturally woke up. If he were quiet enough, he could move around and work some of the stiffness from his limbs, start working on building up his strength.

He took a tentative hobble forward, his bare feet whispering over the wooden floors. He raised his brows, impressed. That… wasn't bad. He moved forward again, his goal the stove. Carefully, he watched his feet, moving slowly until he got the feel of his limitations. The very simple task of walking from the chair to the kitchen took four times longer than it should have, but he knew how easy it would be to aggravate the damage and reset himself. So, even though it was frustrating, he went so very slowly.

He found that he could actually put almost full pressure on his leg, but his normal stride was shortened significantly. He felt twinges of pain and a pulling of the stitches each time he tried to swing his leg out. The easiest thing for him to do was to keep his hip and leg in line, and sort of rock his left side forward.

He reached the stove and paused for a moment to breathe, before spinning around and moving back towards the chair. He repeated his loop time and time again, finding that he gained in speed a little each lap. By the time he reached almost normal speed, his muscles were burning from use and sweat was beading on his brow, but he felt more limber, more alive than he had in days.

His breathing slightly ragged and suppressed, Cullen kept one eye on Elya as he stopped at the chair. She hadn't moved during his exercises, so deeply asleep she didn't know anything was going on around her. Although he was glad he wasn't waking her, a pang of worry shot through him at it. What if someone tried to enter her house and rob her… or worse? Would she just sleep through it? She was alone out here, and while a mage, she knew nothing about using her magic for defense. And her magic would do her no good if she were unconscious to the danger she was in.

Damn it. Cullen turned from Elya's dark form and gripped the back of the chair. Forcibly he pushed away his fears. Worrying about things that may not be an issue was just going to drive him insane, and there was nothing he could do about it. Well, perhaps there was...

Cullen bent his left knee and grabbed his ankle, pulling upwards a little too hard. He ground his teeth as pain pulled up his thigh from the stretch, but it did remarkably little on his hip. Sighing, he eased up on himself, letting the deep stretching sensation slowly work its way through his muscles. When he felt that it had been long enough, he carefully balanced himself on his left leg and did the same exercise to the right.

With military precision, Cullen worked through his typical warm-up routine, or as much of it as he could do with his injuries. He suddenly ached for the familiar weight of his sword and shield, for the burn of a good practice fight. He sighed as he settled back in the chair and rearranged the blanket. He would be useless in any sort of fight currently, but in this at least, he could allow himself to dream.

The sky was that grey-blue of pre-dawn when his eyes drifted closed again. His night of aborted sleep and unexpected exertions pulled him down into dreamless sleep.

He awoke when he heard the muffled taps of Elya moving on the ladder. He yawned as he straightened, his eyes feeling gritty from lack of sleep. Elya was descending, the same serviceable brown dress he had seen before neatly cleaned and pressed, her hair done up in her typical simple fashion, but it seemed more securely pinned and placed. A spencer was settled over her shoulder, and Cullen frowned for a moment before he remembered.

"You are going to the market today." Of course she would take greater care of her appearance before going out into the village.

She started a little as her feet touched the floor, and she frowned as she turned, "Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you."

Cullen shook his head and waved aside the apology, "It does not matter. I will sleep while you are gone." That worry tugged on his stomach again. He tried to bite back his concern, but it slipped out. "How long will you be gone?"

Elya smiled softly as she set about gathering her usual morning items, preparing to go out to the barn. She hung up the spencer, a royal blue piece that looked to be of much higher quality than any of her other garments. "I will be gone most of the day. It is a fair distance to walk, and I will need time to buy supplies and choose material to make your clothes." She grabbed the milk pail and turned to the door.

She seemed very eager to be off on her task. She was moving quickly, almost never looking at him. Something unpleasant moved in his chest.

She swung open the door and jerked to a halt, a gasp leaving her lips. Cullen was half out of his chair before he realized, his body reacting to the potential threat to Elya. Her delighted exclamation froze him in place, though. "Oh, blessed Andraste!"

She bent down and reverently picked up something, a radiant and awestruck smile lighting up her beautiful features, set her brown eyes to dancing. He quickly righted himself before she realized he was up, and dutifully looked at what she was holding.

A stack of… clothing? The almost shapeless lump was a battered hat, sitting on folded clothing of different colors. Instantly, his frown changed, the same wonder that Elya felt now filling him. "Clothes? For me?" Her grin widened and she nodded her dark head enthusiastically. She slipped to his side and slid the pile onto his lap, watching closely as he picked up the hat. "But… how? We are the only ones who know that I am here or what I need!"

Elya laughed, rich and lush, and it moved right down his spine and heated his gut. Cullen gulped and focused on the strange gift, steering clear of the potent physical sensations she triggered in him. "I suppose it is magic!" Elya playfully supplied. She said it flippantly, and Cullen knew that she was not being serious, but after she said the words a thoughtful look appeared on her face for a long moment before she blinked it away.

Cullen sorted through the items, checking to see what was given. And it was… everything he would need. Trousers, shirt, jacket, hat, even smalls and a kerchief to knot around his neck as was the custom here in rural Orlais. Their mysterious benefactor had provided a complete outfit for him. The quality was not high, most of the items looked poor and worn, but they were clean and perfect for Cullen's disguise. The shirt and jacket were missing all their buttons, he noticed with amusement. An easy enough fix, if Elya had any extras.

"Do you think we should be worried about this surprise?" He asked, his pragmatic side pushing through. It was the truth that they thought only the two of the knew he was here… who else could it have been then? Was this some strange ploy by his enemies? It seemed unlikely; they would just come in and arrest them both. But who else would know he was here, or have a motive to aid him?

Elya's thoughtful look came back and she mulled over her words before slowly speaking. "I think that it may be the boy." Cullen frowned in confusion before he remembered the day the maid had surprised them. The rapid knocks on the door, the sudden flash of a boy running past the kitchen window. And then when he had awoken yesterday, that feeling of having been talking to someone, again to a boy.

"The boy," he repeated slowly. There was something strange with that one. Then, "He is a friend?"

Elya pressed her lips together and considered, little lines wrinkling her brow. His fingers tingled, and he smoothed them over the shirt instead of her tawny skin, a poor substitute.

"I do not know his name, but he has always been a friend to me," she finally supplied and looked at him, her gaze clear and assured. "And now, it appears, a friend to you as well. I believe he offers no ill will."

The heat of her eyes on him, Cullen nodded, trusting in her instincts. "Very good. Someday I will thank him, both for the clothes and for his kindness towards you."

Elya's smile built slowly until she beamed, and Cullen caught his breath and held it. He ached to sink his fingers into her hair and pull her close, to slant his lips over hers. His chest burned with want, but he would not betray the trust she held him in, destroy their friendship.

Still happy and smiling, she stood and crossed to her discarded pail, swinging it up as she marched out the door. "Try them on, but be careful of your wounds," She mock scolded, still determined to be his savior.

Now that there was some breathing room between them, Cullen's smile came naturally. "Yes, Elya, I will be careful." She chuckled and shook her head before closing the door.

Cullen sat a bit dazed for a moment, the sudden turn in events slightly bewildering. He had clothing now. He could walk, even if it was not well or fast. The timetable he had constructed for his departure had been contingent on these two factors, and the realization of the two had changed things dramatically. With just a little work and luck, Cullen could leave… today. Tomorrow. Practically immediately.

He had trouble wrapping his head around it. He had to leave as soon as possible; his duty and honor demanded it. And yet… he couldn't leave Elya. He couldn't leave her to face Orlais alone, to repay her kindness with desertion. His chest constricted and he couldn't breathe as his imagination played through horrible scenario after scenario. A young, beautiful woman alone in the countryside?

He just couldn't leave her side. He could not imagine waking up and not seeing her. To not watch her working with her quiet grace and kind manners. Her empathy and compassion were traits that were rare and wonderful.

Those deliriously idyllic daydreams of Elya at Rutherford Hall played through his mind, constricted his chest more. He couldn't leave her here.

Cullen nodded sharply with decision, and got to work. He realized his hands were so tightly clenched in his new clothing that he had left creases. He shrugged it away and stood, dropping the blanket aside so he could dress.

It was slow going, getting the smalls and trousers on. They were large on him, and hung loosely, a kindness to his still tender flesh. He thought he would need some sort of belt though, something to keep the pants from slipping down as he walked. The shirt also seemed a bit large, but with it missing its buttons it was a bit difficult to tell. The jacket fit almost perfect, a comfortable range of movement allowed but not hanging bulkily on his frame either.

He prowled up and down the cottage a couple times, careful not to go for too long as Elya could come in at any moment. He felt satisfied, though, with the little he had done. Simple and innocuous, with his own boots on and the faded cap on his head, he would be easy to overlook. That was, if he could disguise his limp more. It tended to draw eyes, although most people studiously then avoided looking back at the invalid again. A ruse he had used quite successfully before in the past, but the soldiers looking for him knew that he had been injured; they were looking for exactly that.

Elya rapped on the door, and Cullen called out, safe to enter. She came in with milk and some eggs, her smile showing wider as she saw him dressed, even though his chest was still indecently exposed. "Does it all fit you?"

"Surprisingly, yes," he chuckled, "although I think it needs some work. Do you perchance have spare buttons? The shirt and jacket need theirs replaced."

Elya left her items in the kitchen and crossed to her work table. "Yes, I have a collection." She pulled out a little box along with sewing supplies, and brought it to him. "Will you need assistance?"

Cullen quirked a brow at her as he accepted everything, "No thank you. I am quite good at minor repairs, actually. A soldiering life grants you plenty of opportunity for such lessons."

Elya shared in his amusement, returning to cook breakfast while Cullen shrugged out of his new shirt and jacket. They worked in companionable silence, Cullen mulling over a number of things. They ate breakfast almost together, Elya sitting at her table while Cullen stayed in the chair, just a few feet away. He confessed to needing something for a belt, and she knew exactly what he could use.

Once plates were washed and put away, she moved to one of the windows and pulled off a thin grey cord. "I think this would work," she offered it. While thin, the fabric was long and would wrap enough around his waist to leave room to tie it off.

"Yes," he smiled, "It will do well." He looked back at the window and indicated it with his chin. "That actually is something else I need to speak with you about." Elya frowned and looked at the window, but did not understand.

Cullen mentally prepared himself for a battle and said, "I think while you are away, I need to move up to the loft." Elya, as he predicted, immediately opened her mouth to protest. He held up his hand and explained, "We have already had one close call, but you were here to ward them off. If someone comes by today, I could too easily be discovered by someone nosing around. The loft gives me another layer of protection."

"But…" She trailed off and frowned, so Cullen played the other card he had.

"I could wait out in the forest for your return, if you think that would be a better option." Which he knew she would dislike even more.

She instantly shook her head, "No, the weather is too unpredictable this time of year." She pressed her lips together and looked at the ladder leading to the loft. "But, could you even climb up to the loft?"

"Yes," he said firmly. It would not be comfortable lifting his leg in that direction. But the ladder rungs were not too widely set apart and he had made sure that he could in fact lift his leg that high without damaging himself.

Cullen could see that Elya was relenting, but she then brought up a point he hadn't considered. "There is no bedding up there, nothing besides a small chair. Everything is down here," she waved her hand, indicating the pallet before the fire.

He frowned at it for a moment before he shrugged, "We will make it work." And they did.

Setting aside the partially finished shirt and jacket, he stood with exaggerated slowness, knowing that Elya was watching him with eagle eyes. He took a few steps for her benefit, showing her that he was not about to fall over and had improved from yesterday's shamble. She stood rigidly, her hands flexing as if aching to help, but she instead went to the bedding and dismantled everything.

With unexpected fun, Cullen tossed the pillows up to the loft, gauging them so they sailed up over the lip of the low, solid railing before hitting the ground. He didn't know what was up above, but he didn't want to damage anything. Elya smiled at his grin, but it was a bit forced; she was obviously still worried about him. Cullen made sure to keep a good natured look on his face, not too difficult as he was pleased to have a plan, and to be moving again.

With some creative folding, Cullen slung the mattress over his shoulders. It was a bit unwieldy, but not too heavy, and he didn't think it would make things much more difficult for him while climbing the short distance he had. Again taking great pains to be slow and careful, Cullen crossed to the ladder and stepped up on the first rung with his good leg. Using a combination of his arms and leg, he heaved himself up high, and then lifted his left leg. It did pull on his stitches a bit, but with his method, it was actually an easy enough thing to reach the top.

Once above, Cullen looked around curiously. A bedframe sat against one wall, windows letting light into the space. A small table and mirror set were beside an open wardrobe, Elya's gowns hanging inside. He frowned as he saw how few she actually had. She deserved more. His eyes drifted over to a bookshelf, neat rows interspersed with little momento's. It was almost sparse, but she very likely spent not much time up here.

He placed the mattress on the bed frame, working it so the creases from the folding disappeared. Cullen noticed a small bedside table, a half burnt candle in the holder and a packet of spares tucked away beneath. He smiled slightly at that. He could easily see her lighting the candle with a little flick of magic, curled up against her pillows with a book in hand.

Elya popped up, sheets and blankets draped over her shoulders. "You promised me you would rest today." She reminded him firmly. "Sit there while I make up the bed," she pointed to the small chair.

Cullen grinned as he moved across the small space, meekly taking his place, "Yes, ma'am." He tried not to notice how close they were, how her height would have her tucked perfectly beneath his chin.

She rolled her eyes at him as she shook her head, but it was all pretend. Thankfully she was oblivious to his thoughts. She moved with sure, practical skill, and within moments the bed was made and ready.

"I will bring up your things, and you get into bed," She swiftly crossed to the ladder and disappeared down it.

Cullen followed her instructions, sighing as his body relaxed into the welcoming softness, ready to sleep, but he stayed sitting against the pillows. He supposed he could raise the blankets over his bare chest and cover himself as he had done before, but he didn't.

He heard her moving around down below, and he closed his eyes, mind racing as he thought through what he was going to say. How to convince her to come with him. He was nervous, his stomach tying into knots and twisting. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He scoured his hands through his hair, rubbed at his neck as he tried to regain his composure.

All too soon Elya came back up the ladder, a basket hanging on her elbow. She briskly crossed the space and set it on the table. "Everything is in there, and I also added some food and water. And a bottle of the salve." Her head tilted to the side slightly and she looked at him critically. "You have healed so very quickly from your attack, but don't forget that you are still in need of rest. I think it would be best if you stayed in bed until I get back." She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "And certainly don't go down the ladder unless absolutely necessary."

Cullen suppressed his smile, adopting the gravity he knew she was looking for. "Yes, Elya. I will be good, I promise."

Her brown eyes searched his intently before she nodded once. "Very well. I believe you."

She turned abruptly, and Cullen realized that she was leaving. "Wait!" He exclaimed, leaning forward. His hand encircled her wrist, pulling her back.

Surprised, she stepped closer, "What is it? Are you hurt?" Concern darkened her eyes, and he quickly shook his head.

"No, nothing's the matter. I just…"

 _Your attack._ Her words suddenly sliced into him, just as the sword had sliced into his flesh. He lost his breath, his heart racing and head spinning as he thought of the ambush. As he thought of Elya, in the exact same situation that he had been in.

Maker, she would be killed, run through with a sword and screaming in pain and blood. She was not a soldier, and he was one of the most wanted men in Orlais. He could never, ever, ask her to come with him.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. "Cullen?" She asked softly, his tormented fear not hidden from her.

He looked at her, tracing his eyes over her now so familiar and precious features. Her smooth tanned skin with the hint of honey to it, her dusky pink lips, so curved and lush, and the elegant line of her eyebrows. Her heavy hair that had been pinned up so nicely but was even now starting to fall from its arrangement and brush over her forehead and cheeks. The delicate feel of her wrist in his hands, skin warm with life and her strong heartbeat echoing his own.

He was being selfish, he knew. Asking to come with him would be Maker knows how many times more dangerous than her remaining in anonymity here. He would only get her killed, having her travel with him. Those dreams of Rutherford Hall would never come to life, just pretty fantasies to tempt and torment him. His chest banded tightly again as he stored away each feature, saw her look change to a tentative smile.

"I will be back soon," She reassured him, "I will be careful. Safe."

He swallowed tightly, a gentle smile settling bittersweetly on his lips. He would leave as soon as possible. "Yes. You will be. Take care Elya."

He let her wrist slide from his hand, knowing that he had just given her his heart.


	12. Chapter 12

Elya could feel the wary gazes on her as she looked at the produce spread before her, but she was quite practiced at ignoring it by now. Years of being on the receiving end of such stares and whispers had made her build up immunity to it. It was her life, always alone.

She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her reserve. Well, that statement wasn't quite true anymore, was it. She was not alone, Cullen was with her. This was why she was pondering the spread of meats before her, deciding which would be best for his recovery. For however short a time remained, she had a friend.

She was not a fool, though. Cullen was healing at an accelerated rate, and his duties would call him away from her. She had silently stared this morning as he had climbed the ladder to the loft, shocked at the ease with which he had moved his leg, the encumbering mattress no obstacle. Even his steps had been remarkably easy; he had been exaggerating for her sake, she knew. He hadn't disguised it well enough to fool her. Soon, very soon, he would be leaving.

Her chest felt hollow, and she blinked rapidly. She had to help him prepare for his journey. From what he had told her, his best course of action would be to eschew civilization entirely, keep from sight as he made his way to the coast. She could help by providing food that would last and would pack lightly. A canteen for holding water; would it attract too much attention buying something so obviously for travel? Yes, it probably would, Maker curse it. He would need a way to light a fire, wouldn't he? As a mage, she had no need for matches or for flint. When she had first moved to the outskirts of the village, she had kept up a pretense of normalcy, but since her 'discovery' as a witch, she hadn't bothered. Did she still have flint? Would the old matches even work now?

Elya swallowed her worry, trying to ignore the churning of her stomach. She finally looked up to the dark gaze of the butcher and smiled pleasantly. "Could I please get two pieces of the pork, one of beef, and two of chicken?" Then, with her typical casual manner, added, "And then could I try a bit of the jerky?"

The man's eyes narrowed as he uncrossed his arms. He disliked her, as most of the villagers did, but her money was as good as anyone else's and she never asked for credit… not that she would be extended any if she had tried. And truthfully, she paid more than everyone else, something she was willing to. So he grudgingly tore off a piece of the unappetizing looking dried meat and dropped it into her hand. It was a tiny piece, she noted with wry amusement, but she kept it off her face. No need to anger the man.

She brought the piece to her mouth and chewed, making sure to have an open, thoughtful expression in place. Although tough, it was remarkable flavorful. Not nearly as unappetizing as it looked.

"Thank you," she said after she swallowed, a pleased smile on her face, "Could I get four strips?" Although the pieces were dense, four seemed far too few. Would it be enough for Cullen's journey? She didn't dare get more.

Without a word the big man stuffed her order into paper wrappings and waited until she had placed her coins on the counter. Inwardly sighing, Elya watched as he snatched up the money and carelessly tossed her package in its place.

Well, at least they hadn't run her out of town.

Elya placed the shoddily wrapped bundle on the far side of her basket, taking care not to have it mix with her other purchases. With a serene expression, she left the shop and headed out into the street. It was going on three o'clock, the market wrapping up as people began to prepare for their trips home, some farms, like hers, hours away. She had sold almost all her stock, the unexpected windfall of Cullen's new clothing keeping her from spending most of what she had made. All her purchases complete, and it was time to return to her guest and friend.

It was… very uplifting, to have someone to return home to. While her walk was long, she knew it would pass quickly in the pleasant spring air. Her spencer kept her warm enough in the wind, and her burdens were less delicate. Vegetables and meat would not break like little glass vials.

The people moved as far away from her as she headed towards the end of the street and towards home, the diminishing crowd making her obvious. She kept her pace steady and slow, more than ready to pick up speed, but she didn't want to become threatening. She heard the low voices start up behind her as she passed, the same tales that she had been hearing for the past several years, ever since that frankly ridiculous accident not too long after she had come to Orlais. Oh well.

She tuned them out; instead concentrating on what she was going to do when she got back to the cottage. If Cullen was feeling up to it, perhaps he would come down the stairs, work on some exercises with him. She also really needed to take a personal look at his injuries and stitches, see if there was something else she should be doing or if it was time to remove the silk. A small smile arose unbidden; perhaps he would ask to take a bath if the stitches were ready.

That strange warmth moved through her chest and tingled down her spine. Sometimes, the man was intimidating. Cullen was very good looking, she knew that, had immediately known that. Most of the time he was like a beautiful work of art, something she appreciated and admired; but sometimes, like when she had washed his hair, his attractiveness had changed. Had become something that-

A squishing impact caught her along her back, shoving her slightly forward. Elya gasped, a slight sting accompanying the mostly soft blow. The sharp sounds of uncertain high-pitched laughter broke from behind her, and she turned to look. Behind one of the houses, there was a small knot of children. Most of them were scared through their noise, staring at her with wide eyes, cowering slightly behind the ringleader. He was a big boy, chubby and mean-looking already for his young age. He crowed the loudest, bravado forcing the others to follow along. His hands were muddy, and he tossed a stone between them.

He had thrown a mud ball at her, probably one with a rock in the center. She blinked in surprise, wavering in her shock. He had taunted her before, but this was the first time he had ever made an aggressive act towards her. The first time anyone in the village had.

She didn't know what to do. Did she… did she retaliate in some way? She looked over the other children again, saw the fear of her reflected in their eyes. But the longer she stood, knowing that she would never be able to even pretend frighten them, she saw the look change, become emboldened.

She quickly turned and fled, a sudden sinking shift in her life. She knew things would now not be as they were. She would never be able to defend herself against a child bully, and adult ones would take notice. Her reputation as a mysterious and scary witch would crumble, leaving her as just a solitary woman with no friends. She had no protector, no ally. Everything would change.

The damp seeped through her spencer, mud no doubt staining it. A sudden rush of tears made Elya bit her lip, blinking rapidly as she tried to stop them from falling. She sniffed. Perhaps it could be salvaged once she got back to the cottage. A little mud could come off. Oh, she was lying to herself, she admitted. The material was too delicate, and she had too far to go. The stain would be set by the time she returned home, and there was no point in crying over what had been done.

It was just… it was the last piece of clothing she had left. From before. All the other beautiful garments she had once owned had been left behind; the few she had taken with her when she had left Ferelden had been sold or traded. Before she had realized it, this had been the last piece of clothing. It was silly; she had other, more tangible connections to her childhood, and yet she hadn't been able to part with this jacket.

She clutched her basket closer to her stomach, almost running with her desire to get home. Things would be better when she was back within the comfortable walls of her cottage. Cullen was there. Her friend would make her feel better, she knew it.

He would also be able to tell she was upset if she continued like this. Elya squared her shoulders and took a deep, calming breath. She forced her frantic pace to even out, let her stride settle into her natural rhythm. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the village fade into the distance, focusing on the soothing whistles and songs of the birds in the forest. Slowly, her equilibrium returned.

She was exaggerating things. It had just been children being children, bucking against authority and their fears. She had lived here for so long; her place in this small community was established and settled, largely forgotten. It was not going to change.

She could always use the material of the spencer for something else. Perhaps for the trim of a shawl or the lining of a new jacket; it would remain with her in some form or another.

The long walk back home gave her all the time she needed to settle herself, and when she finally saw her cottage, small and quaint nestled against the forest, she was at peace once again. A surge of anticipation filled her at the thought of Cullen waiting for her. Had he slept? Followed her instructions to not push himself? With the way he was walking already, she knew that he was going to have a hard time following that order.

She gave a cursory look around the area as she approached the door, still cautious about Cullen being discovered, but everything was as peaceful as ever. She was not surprised; there was never anyone around. Hitching her basket in closer to her body, she twisted her fingers in the air above the doorknob, using a little magic to unlock the simple mechanic. With a faint click, it released and she opened the door.

"I'm back," she called quietly, feeling slightly foolish at talking to the floorboards of the loft, but it was not possible to see what was up above from the room below.

"Elya," his voice floated down to her, almost a caress. It was a sound she could find herself depending on. She shivered faintly, her hands tightening on her basket. The soft sounds of his footsteps crossed to the edge of the loft, and then he was there, looking down at her with a mixture of concern and welcome. "Are you well? Did your trip go as planned?"

She nodded automatically, dazedly noticing that his new shirt was repaired, the white material buttoned tight over his chest and arms. It was a bit strange to see him so covered; he had been bare-chested for almost every moment he had been in her company. She preferred him that way, she realized with a jolt. Unnerved, she spun and placed the basket in the kitchen, tossing over her shoulder, "And your day? Did you get any rest?"

His husky chuckle filled the room, warmth rising in her chest at the sound. "I slept, as I promised. I also finished sewing the buttons on the jacket as well. I am almost respectable again."

She laughed lightly as she put things away, glancing up at him. "You have been busy." He stood with his arms crossed confidently, his blond curls raked back from his forehead. Satisfaction glowed on his face, pleased with what he had accomplished. While not much, it was working towards his goal of leaving. She swallowed hard, and with that in mind asked, "And your hip?"

His jaw hardened, no doubt clenching his teeth, but he did not look angry. Just determined. "It is better than it has been. I have been working with it, carefully, of course," he quickly added when he saw her concern. "But I am pleased with my progress."

Elya's eyebrows rose and she paused with her movements. "Indeed? Well, if you are feeling up to it, why don't you come down for dinner?"

Cullen's eyebrows furrowed and he looked hard at the ladder before he nodded tightly. "Yes. I can do it." Elya turned back to her tasks, trusting that he was telling her the truth, trusting that he would take care of himself.

It was a long while before she heard anything; she had almost finished putting everything away by the time she heard the creak of the ladder as he put weight on it. There was a temptation to watch, to hover, but she resisted the urge. Cullen was a grown man, and a soldier on top of it; he would be fine climbing down a small ladder.

Cullen grunted once, low and short. Then there was the sound of quick movements and then the slight thud of feet hitting the ground. He was down, so quickly too. Unable to resist any longer, Elya rotated. Cullen was smiling slightly as he looked at his feet, pleased.

"Well done," She said quietly, proudly. His head lifted and grinned boyishly, a twinkle lighting his eyes up, a fire in the amber depths.

His playful mien still in place, Cullen limped up to her, far smoother and quicker than he had this morning. She had known he had been exaggerating! She kept her eyes locked with his as he stopped right before her, that mischievous smile playing along his lips. He bent forward, his hand gently grasping her fingers. With mock gravitas, he bowed, brushing his lips along the back of her hand in a formal bow. "It is all thanks to you, Miss Elya."

* * *

Cullen kept the mood light as he kissed Elya's hand, trying not to reveal everything he was feeling. His lips tingled from the faint brush against her warm skin, her delicate fragrance teasing his senses. This was all thanks to her, and he did not know how he was ever going to make it up to her. And he was fast running out of time. The climb down the ladder had been even easier than the climb up; the cut on his hip was completely closed, no infection keeping it from healing. The stitches could come out at any time. His limp was diminished, and with some work could be disguised completely.

It was time to say goodbye.

He swallowed back the emotions that caused, instead focusing on Elya. Beneath her beautiful tawny skin, a dusky rose color bloomed in her cheeks. Her lips bowed with pleasure at his courtly gesture, happy with his progress and his compliments. Maker's breath, he stared deep into her brown eyes, feeling a little dizzy. She was playing hell with his control.

His fingers tightened over hers, and he struggled with himself, fighting to keep from pulling her into his arms and crashing his lips along the curve of hers. He wrestled for a moment, standing just a bit too close, before he forced himself back half a step. The space allowed him to take another, and another, until he was a safe distance away.

There was a part of him that was raw and hurting, a part he tried to seal away. Lock it back up with the daydreams of asking Elya to return to Ferelden with him, of what could have been. The desire he felt were just going to get in the way, the longing was just going to cause pain. It was better to keep emotionless, keep calm and logical as he had once been. He could reach that point again, if he focused enough and called upon his training. If he could just somehow detach.

Cullen turned and moved to the cupboard of the kitchen, pulling out dishes. "How about I set the table? I would offer to cook, but everything would be a charred mess if I tried."

Elya laughed lightly; seemingly unaware of the conflict he was in. Good, he sighed inwardly, busying himself with collecting everything they would need. She enjoyed their friendship too much for him to ruin it with his bumbling.

Cullen kept their conversation light and easy as they ate, not delving into dangerous subjects like her past and his future. He knew how much she enjoyed his silly soldiering stories, so he stuck with those. Maker knew, he had a lifetime of them to draw from. But he knew that he would have to broach the subject of his departure soon. After dinner, he promised himself.

The light faded as they ate, darkness coming as he helped her wash and put away the dishes. Elya casually lit the fire with a little spark of magic and they moved back to the table after everything was finished. Cullen sought for a way to bring up the things he needed to say, the silence stretching.

"Elya…" He finally began, stalling almost immediately. "I am, well, my hip is… You are very good at what you do and… what I mean to say…" She looked at him, adorably confused as he struggled to articulate what he meant.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, forcing himself to just say it. "Elya, it is-"

The door to the cottage burst open, wind whipping around the room, setting the flames in the hearth to dancing wildly. Cullen was on his feet, his hands automatically grasping for the sword and shield he did not have, placing himself between the threat and the woman he meant to protect with his life.

Silhouetted against the dark blue of the sky, there stood the slight figure of a boy. Cullen frowned, keeping his guard up. A boy… was it the boy? The one who had been helping them? His eyes scanned over what was revealed: a messy head of hair of an indeterminate light color, a thin face down to a thin body, his clothes looking similar to the ones left for Cullen. His hands were free of weapons, allowing Cullen to relax just slightly. Yes, he frowned, yes; it was the boy he had seen before.

"Spirit!" Elya gasped, and he allowed himself one fleeting glimpse back at her. Her eyes were wide, her hand clutched at her throat, the other wrapped around her waist protectively, but her fear was diminishing quickly as she looked at the boy. Spirit?

The boy spoke, and Cullen focused back on the one who had aided them. "Hurry, up the ladder to the loft!" He said swiftly, his voice high and nervous. He glanced back outside, peering out and down the road. "Chevaliers. They will be here in just a few minutes."

Cullen's blood ran cold, his heart stopped beating. Chevaliers. Looking for him. He had lingered too long. Their luck had just run out.


	13. Chapter 13

For a moment they all froze, and Cullen could feel the dread in the air, suspended over them all. He forced himself out of his inactivity, spinning to where Elya stood. "Come," He grasped her hand, pulling her towards him. She stumbled slightly, shock still holding her tightly in limbo. "Elya, look at me," he said sharply, and her dark brown eyes flew to his. Her hand turned and latched onto his wrist, focusing entirely on him.

Panic filled her. "No, we have to flee! Into the forest!" She took a few more stumbling steps towards the door and the boy still standing there, tugging futilely on his wrist.

Cullen planted himself, knowing there was some sense in her plan, but needing to know. "Will they see us if we run?"

Logically, Cullen knew not to trust the unknown element, the stranger, with something so important. However, his instincts were sharpened by the rush of danger, and he focused on what they were telling him about the kid, and his gut was telling him to listen. So when the boy nodded his head, his long face serious, Cullen believed him.

"They approach, three. Too swift to run, too strong to fight." Cullen swallowed, his hands achingly empty of his weapons.

Elya stopped struggling, instinctively turning to him and stepping closer. One of her hands went to the fabric across his chest, fisting the material as she looked to him. "What do we do?" She whispered, terrified.

The boy shut the door and stepped inside, gesturing with his hands. "Up the loft. I can hide you, up the loft."

There was no cover up there, Cullen knew this. No place to hide, no other exit except through the windows. If they had to, they could escape that way, but they would be left out in the open as they ran for cover in the forest. Cullen had decided to trust this boy, though, and so he spun Elya and propelled her to the ladder. "Up," he said gruffly, helping her along and keeping right behind her.

Elya obeyed, her hands shaking as she grabbed the rungs. She was achingly obviously unaccustomed to danger, to fear. She slipped the first time she put her foot on the wood, getting tangled up with the hem of her dress. She gave a little cry, and Cullen placed his palm on the back of her neck, leaning in closer, "Breathe, Elya. You must remember to breathe."

She trembled, fighting against her fear. She nodded, a strand of her heavy hair falling from her pins, and she took a deep breath. He felt it expand through her, her heavily tensed muscles easing just slightly enough to allow for freer movement. She started back up the ladder, less frantic and her hands steadier.

Satisfied she wasn't going to hurt herself, Cullen followed close behind her, using mostly his arms to hoist his body's weight. He scarce felt his hip; too intent on listening for the pursuers and making sure Elya didn't fall. They were almost to the top when Elya gasped out, "The fire!"

Cullen, still moving, came up around her, his arms on either side of her body as she completely stopped. His body pressed into hers, his chest against her back, her loosened hair brushing against his face. He closed his eyes for just a moment, her scent filling him with a complex tide of feelings. He held still as she leaned into him, looking down and back to her target, seemingly unaware that she was braced almost exclusively against his chest. She flung out her hand, aiming for where the fire was cheerily crackling away in the hearth, incongruous to the danger now stalking them. With a savage jerk, Cullen focused himself again and held still as she finished making the flames disappear.

"There," she whispered, her eyes meeting his for half a second. He nodded sharply, and she turned back to the ladder, scrambling the last little distance up with Cullen right behind her.

The both stood at the top, waiting for the boy to appear. Without the fire, the cottage was almost completely black, only a little light from the last vestiges of day creeping through the curtains. Cullen strained his senses, waiting to hear the Chevaliers. There, he could hear the faint sound of horses galloping towards them.

"Onto the bed," the boy's voice sprung out of the darkness, and Elya let out a small yelp, Cullen spinning around to face the sound. His slight form was somehow standing by Elya's bed, gesturing to the small mattress. How in the Fade had the boy gotten up here? He hadn't climbed the ladder, Cullen was damned sure of that. "Hurry," the boy urged them when neither of them moved. "I can help you, but only if you stay in the dark, and don't move."

Cullen looked around the loft, and almost swore aloud. There was absolutely zero coverage up here. Elya's closet was open, the only other space to hide was the gap between the bed frame and the floor, and there was no way Elya was going to fit beneath it, let alone him. Against the wall on the bed was the darkest spot available, and also furthest from the ladder. It was their best bet, it would seem.

Cullen flung out a hand to Elya and she instantly grabbed his hand tightly. They hurried across the small space, and Cullen could hear the beat of hooves, no longer faint. The Chevalier's were definitely on their way here.

"You first, against the wall," he urged. Elya's lips were pressed together as she crawled onto the bed, settling herself against the headboard and wedged against the wall, drawing her knees up against her chest. Cullen slipped into the space next to her, turning so that he was the obvious visual target, but still trying to keep back in the shadows.

Elya was trembling; he could feel her body shaking from where he was pressed against her. As soon as he was settled, her hands were curled into his shirt again, holding onto him for dear life. She was making little noises, but they were muffled, as if she had her lips pressed together, holding in everything.

Maker, he closed his eyes, feeling his heart breaking. Oh, Maker, what had he brought her to? He couldn't stand her terror.

He turned to her and cupped her face, tilting her head up to his. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her brows drawn, tension thrumming through her body as she tried to hold everything in. "Elya," he whispered, aware that the hoof beats outside were almost to the cottage, "look at me."

Her lashes fluttered open, and he was again struck by her fear, the confusion and helplessness he could feel radiating from her. As the last of the light faded, leaving them in the enveloping dark, Cullen wrapped his arms around her back, drawing her into him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her skin silken warmth beneath his lips. "Shh," he soothed her, moving his hands in wide strokes over her back as they curled into each other. "We will be alright. Nothing will happen. Breathe."

She pressed her face into the curve of his neck, her arms slipping around his waist. She shuddered, gripping onto him tightly, but she seemed to find some inner strength. He pressed his cheek to the top of her silken hair, his chest too tight with emotions. Elya was terrified, but she was placing her trust in him. Silently he started the Chant, praying that she was right to do so.

Outside, the hoof beats grew to a crescendo, coming right up to the house. They stopped their mounts, voices speaking, but he couldn't quite hear what was said. He was almost fluent in Orlesian, but it could be a struggle to understand what natives were saying. He hoped his knowledge would be enough to know what was going on. He kept his breathing deep and even, hoping that it would help keep Elya calm. He looked through the loft, trying to make out the figure of the boy, but he couldn't see anything; just vague shapes from furniture.

A heavy pounding on the door rumbled through the cottage, and Elya whimpered, clutching him tighter. Cullen cupped the back of her head, pressing her closer, as if he could protect her from just how closely they were. He pressed his lips to her ear, "Easy, love, we will be alright." His voice was so faint he wasn't sure she could hear him, but she nodded against his shoulder, keeping as still as she could.

The door to the cottage opened, and Cullen heard two pairs of boots stroll into the cottage. He leveled out his breathing, listening intently as they moved around the room. A spark of light, shadows shifting as candles were moved around with the people holding them. There was a clatter of dishes against each other, the sound of a chest opening and then closing a little later. There was a very light tinkling sound; Elya's jars rattling against each other. He looked around the loft again; no one else was with them. Where had the boy gone?

"See anything?" A third voice cut in from the doorway, and Elya jumped. Cullen combed his fingers softly through her hair, letting her know that she was not alone.

"No one's home. Are we sure he was here?" One of the original two men spoke up, seemingly unimpressed and bored.

"If he were to be anywhere around here, the villagers said he would be out here. It's secluded, quiet. A good place to hold up. And she's a foreigner; she has no allegiance to Orlais, plus a healer supposedly." The third man spoke again, probably the leader of the group.

"They said she is a witch," This man was nervous, his voice high and reedy. "Do you think she turned into something? Is watching us from the shadows?"

The leader snorted, and there was the sound of leather being cuffed. "Don't be an idiot. Of course she is not a witch. If she were a mage, she would be in a Circle. These damned yokels label any outsider a witch." There was a pause, "The fireplace is cold; they likely left a few hours ago when she returned from the village." So that is what Elya had been doing. He gave her a squeeze, impressed with her quick thinking.

"He needs to get to a boat," the bored man spoke, and Cullen stiffened. Damn. He had figured they would know of his plans, but he still wasn't pleased to hear it confirmed. "The woman doesn't have a horse; they would be on foot. We could overtake them."

The leader said nothing again as he walked around the room. "You and I will check out the barn again, and Raul, you check the loft. Once we are done with that, we will comb through the forest, then head towards the coast." There was a bit of a whining groan from someone, and he cut in with a sharp voice. "Need I remind you what happens if we don't find him? We need to get that list."

Cullen suddenly felt the little packet burn against his stomach, the list sewn back into the shirt and hidden as best as possible. Maker watch over them; they would need divine help.

The sound of footsteps headed out the door, and most of the light as well. He heard the grumbling of the nervous man, and then slowly, the sound of someone climbing the ladder. Elya heard it too, freezing and not breathing, struggling to not make a sound. Cullen tightened his arms around her, curling protectively into her so that she was as covered as he could provide.

Maker, what was he doing? Letting some unknown kid be their protection? A boy who had disappeared, leaving them alone and defenseless with no way to safely escape. Fuck, he was going to get Elya killed with his stupidity. It was too late now; he had no other options. He ground his teeth, keeping still, praying that the boy would follow through with his promise.

The man climbed higher and higher, and then Cullen heard a soft noise. A gasp? They had been seen, the light from below enough to reveal their forms even in the shadow. He closed his eyes, a wave of despair taking over him. He pressed his lips to Elya's hair, just waiting for the shout that would seal their doom.

A heart beat passed, and then another, and there was still no shout. Cullen frowned; that was odd.

Barely moving, Cullen shifted his head, looking past his arm to where the ladder broke over the loft floor. There, a stranger was standing on the ladder, his head and shoulders above the wood, staring vacantly into the eyes of the boy. He had suddenly appeared again, now crouched so that he and the Chevalier were on the same level. Neither was speaking, so focused on each other that Cullen wasn't sure if the man had even looked around. But he didn't dare move, didn't dare break the… spell?

Suddenly, the boy's low voice filled the air. "There is no one up here. Just a closet with a few dresses, a bookshelf, and a made bed." His voice was almost hypnotic, weaving its way through the air. The stunned look the Chevalier wore gradually relaxed and became almost blank. The boy spoke again. "Forget," he passed his hand in front of the Chevalier's face.

Astonished, Cullen watched as the Chevalier blinked vacantly a few times, then headed back down the way he came. Just like that. He shifted his eyes to where the boy still crouched, watching the movements below him. That had been… unlike any magic he had ever seen before. Elya had said spirit when he had first appeared; is that what the boy was? A spirit? How was that possible, a spirit on this side of the Veil?

The light faded, and Cullen realized that the man had left the cottage, leaving the door open. Distantly, he heard the men speaking again, "Anything up there?"

"No, there is no one up there. Just a closet with a few dresses, a bookshelf, and a made bed," the words came out verbatim, the tone cool and distant. Then, he spoke again, "Let's get out of here and check the forest. This place gives me the creeps."

"Mount up," the leader ordered, voice fading as they went to their horses. Within moments, the sounds of the small party headed towards the forest, away from the cottage.

They all stayed exactly as they were for a few minutes, then the boy stood up and crossed to them, a shape in the darkness. Cullen lifted his head, looking directly at the figure, still stunned.

"Don't move around until I come back," the boy said, a hint of question in his voice. Cullen nodded, and Elya nodded as well, her face still pressed to his neck. Although it was pitch black, Cullen knew he had seen them agree. He stood still for a minute, looking at the two of them, then just vanished. A solid form one minute, air the next. Spirit, huh?

He sighed, heavily, Elya's body rising and falling with his chest. He dropped his head back against the wall, the shivery feeling of released tension and adrenaline working through his body. He felt Elya do the same, her muscles becoming pliant and she shook, now with relief. Neither one of them moved to disentangle themselves, staying pressed chest to chest with their arms around each other.

Cullen closed his eyes, sucking in breaths. Thank the Maker. And thank the boy, whatever he was.


	14. Chapter 14

For a long time, Elya didn't move. When the spirit had left them in the dark and the Chevaliers had departed, she had relaxed with a great rush of relief. But that relief was now jittering through her body, making her shake uncontrollably. Her hands were still fisted in Cullen's shirt, feeling like claws that she could not unbend. She was dizzy and out of sorts, her thoughts disjointed as they jumped from what if to what if. What if the spirit had not warned them, or helped them? What if the soldiers decided to come back? What if next time they were not so lucky?

The only thing keeping her grounded was Cullen. Her face was pressed into his neck, his arms still around her, although not nearly as tightly as they had been. He smelled good, his natural scent mixed with that of the shampoo she had washed his hair with. She could feel the elevated rate of his heartbeat against her shoulder, the slight movement of his heavy muscles in his body as he cradled her, her legs tucked crossways over his lap.

It felt like… home.

Maker, she had been so scared. Ever since her parents' deaths and their disgrace, Elya had been alone. She had been through some difficult and frightening periods, but nothing like the last hour. Nothing had come nearly as close. If they had been discovered, Cullen would have been executed. No trial, nothing. Just murdered, while she fought uselessly to save him.

Sudden tears rushed into her eyes, and she choked on a sob. Maker, he had to leave, didn't he? Elya had known that he would, but to suddenly have it thrust upon her like this was unbearable. She couldn't protect him and he didn't have the tools to protect himself here. Sooner or later the Chevaliers would be back, or someone would discover him. He had to leave.

"Elya?" Cullen's voice was low, concerned, a whisper in the dark. His hands ran up from her waist to her shoulders, light and gentle as she shuddered again. "What is it?"

She couldn't answer; her throat burned and was too tight to allow for speech. She just shook her head, feeling the catch of her hair along his stubble. After tonight she wouldn't see him again; she knew he would leave immediately, as soon as he was able to. For her protection, for her safety. Her tears broke, wetting his skin.

Cullen curled around her once more, holding her tighter, but this time there was a soft gentleness too. Instead of the fierce embrace during their ordeal, this one was comforting and soothing. He dropped his head over hers, his mouth closer to her ear. "You are safe now, Elya. I won't let anything happen to you."

His words made her cry harder, still unable to speak as she clutched onto him tighter. She shook her head; he didn't understand. That wasn't what she was worried about. She didn't care about her own safety, she was scared for his. Scared about the terrible emptiness she felt at the thought of losing him.

"Please don't cry." His voice was achingly soft, and he gently pulled her shoulders back. In the dark, she strained to see his face, but the curtains kept out the meager moonlight, concealing him from her. Her tears, now unobstructed, rolled down her cheeks. She swallowed hard and sniffed, trying to stop herself and find the composure that had been drilled into her in her youth. She took a shuddering breath, remembering his instructions to her during their ordeal. Breathe.

Cullen's hands skimmed up to her cheeks, cupping her face. His thumbs moved softly, catching the wetness lingering there and brushing it away. "That's my girl," he breathed into the stillness.

Elya could hear the soft smile she knew he wore, could feel the strength he leant her. She took another deep gulp, this one only quivering slightly. She sat up more fully and released her hold on his shirt. With Cullen cradling her face still, she wrapped her hands around his wrists. Even in so innocuous a place, she could feel the power of him, knew the warrior strength of him. She turned her cheek into his palm and closed her eyes. "Thank you, Cullen." She hesitated, trying to master her emotions. She swallowed hard, then whispered out, "I will miss you."

Cullen stilled; Elya couldn't even hear his breathing. The words hung in the air, tense between them. She knew then that it was as she thought: he had made up his mind to leave. Another wave of sorrow rolled through her, dampening her eyes again. She pressed her lips together, feeling them tremble. So this was it. This was their goodbye.

Her hands tightened around his wrists before slowly dropping away to fall into her lap, limp and useless. She bowed her head and leaned back against the wall, Cullen's fingers sliding against her skin as she pulled away.

"No." Cullen said it so softly, she almost missed it. But then his hands were back on her shoulders, gripping her tightly. She gasped, eyes wide at the sudden change in him. Gone was the melancholy air around him, replaced by a fierce tension, one that sent her pulse racing. "No." He repeated, much more firmly.

Then his lips were on hers, and her confusion flew away, all rational thought quickly following.

His kiss was soft, his lips almost not touching hers. Gently, Cullen brushed back and forth, sensations tingling in his wake. Elya's didn't breathe, shock keeping her motionless, her eyes wide. She wished desperately that she could see him, see what he was feeling. The barely-there touches suffused her with a longing, a restlessness that she didn't understand.

Still keeping things light, Cullen moved his lips more firmly. He teased along the curve of her upper lip and she shuddered, a rush of warmth spreading through her fast. Oh, she dazedly realized, so that was what people spoke of when they spoke of kisses. So this was desire.

She had been kissed a few times before, back before her life had fallen apart. Quick, uninteresting presses of lips by over-excited puppies of men, boys pretending to be worldly. Uncaring that they could be discovered and that Elya's reputation would have been shattered and she would have been disgraced or betrothed to whoever would take her. Uncaring if she had wanted to be kissed, or even if she had been frightened by the sudden onslaught of lips.

Cullen, though. She knew that he would never hurt her, no matter what. Not once since she had seen him collapsed in her garden had she ever been frightened of him. Were she to ask him to stop, he would, instantly. Not that she wanted to. For the first time, she actually wanted to be kissed. The shock melted away, and as it did, she melted as well. Her form went pliant and she focused on the coaxing motion of Cullen's velvety soft lips. Ever so gentle, ever so wonderful.

Elya closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment, on the heat that was spreading through her veins and replacing the icy sadness. She grasped this chance, perhaps forever her last, and she parted her lips and moved her own against his in a dance she didn't know, but she could feel down to her soul.

Cullen groaned, his hands squeezing her shoulders harder before he forcibly loosened his fingers. With a deepening, Cullen kept their kiss slow as she began to kiss him back, feeling that languid heat slipping through her limbs. The firmer pressure was even more evocative, instead of teasing it now gave. She felt the rasp of his lengthening stubble against her skin, a prickling that contrasted with the softness of his firm lips. His nose brushed against hers before he moved to one corner of her mouth, then smoothed across her bottom lip to the other. He lavished her lips, making her feel as if there was nothing beyond this, nothing beyond them.

Elya opened her lips fully, realizing she hadn't been breathing, and unsteadily drew in a lungful. She jumped in surprise when she felt Cullen lick her lips, then dip briefly inside her mouth. A strong spark of heat shot through her and curled in her belly, and she moaned, adrift in the heady feeling. She instantly flushed, embarrassed that she could make such a wanton sound, but Cullen seemed to delight in it. He groaned, his hands moving from her shoulders to her hair, pulling her in closer.

She leaned in instantly, her hands which had been clenched in her lap now tentatively reaching out and settling on his chest between them. He felt so strong, warm and solid. After looking at his bare torso for so long, Elya wished that she was touching the muscles she had seen, feel his battle-scarred skin with her palms. She felt her fingers curl, tug slightly on the fabric before smoothing again to press her palms flush. Cullen dipped inside her mouth once more, this time curling around her tongue. That spark from earlier repeated, and she gasped, her hands grasping and feeling the thundering race of Cullen's heart. Oh Maker, if what she had felt at the beginning was desire, what was this intense heat and mindlessness?

Her heavy brown hair, always eager to part from her pins, fell down happily with Cullen's fingers combing through it. He angled her, pulling her closer and she mewled. Her hands slipped up to his shoulders, curling around his neck and toying with the silken curls her fingertips found. He groaned as her breasts pressed against him, and she felt the sound through her own, beading her nipples. Another surprising feeling of heat glimmered from her breasts, and she wished for more. Elya gasped slightly, distantly thinking that she should be shocked at her own behavior, but she couldn't care. She felt too wonderful; too entranced by the heat and intimacy she was sharing with Cullen.

All thought of propriety left Elya's mind, and she met him kiss for kiss. She tasted him as he had tasted her, delighting in the feel of his lips, of his hands and his skin. She gently kissed the cut on his lip, knowing that the scar it would leave behind would be dashing. A fitting tribute to the man. Cullen pulled her in further, tightening one hand in her hair to tilt her head further back, bestowing deep, penetrating kisses upon her eager mouth as the other arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her closer into his body so that she sat across his lap.

She felt that heat coil inside her tighter, a strange ache building between her legs. She throbbed as well, a promise of something building. She felt almost wet, instinctively knew that if they continued the sensations would grow, and Cullen could help her reach for what she wanted. She shifted her hips restlessly, pressing her breasts against Cullen more firmly, arching her back as their tongues danced together. A sound escaped her as she rolled her hips again and brushed across his lap, a question and demand all wrapped in one.

Cullen hissed, his body growing startlingly still after all of their movements. He strangled out a noise and dropped his head to her throat, pressing his lips against her pulse. She felt the erratic measure of his breaths, how tensely he held himself. She swallowed hard as she regained some of her consciousness; he was trying to control himself.

His lips burned against her skin and the brush of his heavy breathing sent little shivers racing down her spine. After long moments when both their heartbeats slowed, Cullen lifted his head. He carefully slipped his hand from her hair, the other from around her waist. A wave of grief roared through her at the loss. That had been the kiss that would have to last her a lifetime. A true taste of what desire could be like, something she would always want but never be able to feel again.

Then Cullen's arms were back, and she gasped as he deftly lifted her off his lap and settled her length wise against his side. She was still on the wall side, but he kept her close, her thigh alongside his, their arms against each other. Not as it had been, but they were still connected. Cullen linked their hands, twining their fingers together. She felt the desire between them lingering, felt it in the heat as they pressed against each other, but the intensity of before had changed to something else.

"Come with me." Cullen's voice was deep, sounded rougher than it had before. It seemed to slip beneath her skin, shaking her deliciously. Then she realized what he said. "Come with me. To Ferelden."

She stopped breathing for a moment, stunned. Travel to Ferelden? Go with Cullen? An instant yearning filled her; she wouldn't have to part with him. The first real friend she had ever had would not disappear from her sight.

She could help him. True she was no great traveler or some sort of fighter, but she was not being hunted as he was. She could help Cullen navigate to the coast, could help him find a ship home. Her meager magic skills could perhaps also be of aid in his journey, and she could also make sure his injuries continued to heal. Fleeing would no doubt not be the best thing for his recovery, but she could help smooth over the issues.

Travel to Ferelden though? Did she dare? Perhaps enough time had passed that no one would recall her parents, or Elya's remarkable similarity to her mother. Perhaps with her status as a member of the lower class, she would be overlooked. Besides, it was unlikely that she would meet who she had been acquainted with.

Cullen had a very specific quest he needed to complete, and a vital one at that. If she could help him in any way, she would. Once that was done, she could always return.

The memory of the children laughing at her ruined spencer rose up in her mind, twisting her stomach. Would she be allowed to return? Her position as the village witch had always lent her a lonely but stable life, but something had changed. And if she just left in the middle of the night, would her cottage remain as it was? It seemed unlikely. She considered her belongings, and was surprised when she discovered she was unconcerned about leaving most of it behind. If giving up her cottage and what was in it meant she could spend more time with Cullen, she would leave with him.

Heat rose up in her cheeks as she realized what traveling with him would mean. She and Cullen were obviously not related and they were unmarried. Everyone would assume that she was… that she was his mistress.

Elya waited for the horror of that revelation to hit her, but it never came. Instead, a shadow of the heat of Cullen's kiss crept through her, bringing that ache and unsteady breathe back. Andraste forgive her, it did not frighten her. She actually felt excitement and anticipation at the idea. If being Cullen's mistress meant more kisses, more of those feelings, would she agree to it?

She licked her lips and shook herself; he had not asked her for that. No, he had just asked her to go with him. Cullen thought of her as a friend, this kiss notwithstanding. He had probably just been as overcome with their ordeal as she had, seeking some sort of outlet for the danger and adrenaline rushing through his body. For a man, a kiss did not mean much; she had been told this so many times during her upbringing. Cullen did not mean anything by his kisses and he was not asking her to be his mistress.

She ruthlessly pushed aside a shocking pang of disappointment and pulled herself from her thoughts. She was just making herself dizzy; she already knew what her instincts were telling her. She straightened her spine, adopting her comfortable composure. "Yes. Yes, I will go with you."


	15. Chapter 15

Cullen shook as he held Elya, a trembling that was not of his body, but of his soul. Kissing her had changed everything. The realization of leaving her had changed everything.

He caught his breath as her acceptance settled with him. She had agreed to come with him, leaving him dizzy. Or perhaps that was from the shocking kiss that still had him too hot and too aware of Elya still pressed so close. Her rich accented voice that tumbled through the darkness and held him captive. Maker, Cullen closed his eyes against the darkness, sucking in breaths, Maker this changed everything. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

They had to survive first. Cullen cleared his throat, then whispered out, "We will remain here, as the boy suggested. Once he returns though, we will need to move quickly." Elya nodded, her rough yet still elegant fingers tightening in his for a moment. "Pack lightly; warm and sturdy clothing, a couple of blankets. If you have keepsakes you want to bring, we will do our best to carry them. Some of your medicine may be wise as well, although I will leave that decision up to you. Food, water."

Elya spoke softly to the hushed night, only a slight tremor in her voice betraying the fact she was not completely composed. "There is little I need. I shall be quick."

"Good girl," Cullen briefly touched his forehead to the crown of her head, even this little connection arousing, silk beneath his lips. Fade curse it, everything about the situation he was in was arousing. Elya pressed to him, on a bed, in the dark, her courage in the face of the unknown. It was all keeping him on edge. He still was hard, but he hoped that it would fade away soon. Elya sighed slightly and shifted, bringing a wry twist to his lips. It was a futile hope he feared.

He tried to push aside his pressing needs, instead focusing on their plan. "You should sleep, if you can. I am unsure how long it will be before we will get the opportunity once more."

Once again he felt Elya nod, and she gently extracted her fingers from his and pulled away. Cullen moved over on the bed slightly, giving her more space. Yet not as much as he could; she moved against his side as she twisted, her thigh brushing his as she lay on her stomach, then pressed slightly as she stilled.

She yawned, deep and involuntary. Something twisted in Cullen's chest, a painful feeling. Poor love was still sleep deprived and the next few days would by anything but restful.

"Will you not sleep?" The caress of her words asked, a hint of concern in them.

Cullen shook his head, forgetting for a moment she could not see him. "No," he whispered, crossing his arms across his chest and settling back against the headboard, moving his legs to relieve some pressure. "I will stand watch, as it were. I slept most of the day and am quite awake." He was used to sleeping in short bursts, always on the alert. This was no different than when he took watch with his men.

The customary painful twist in his gut at the thought of his butchered friends was heightened by the wildness of the kiss. How alive and vital Elya made him feel, despite his injury. It brought home the fact that though he may be accustomed to watching for danger, his usual circumstances and right now were worlds apart. Typical was cold and alone, sword at the ready. Typical was not the siren song of the most tempting woman all warm and pliant pressed against him. Dreams and nightmare memories danced before his straining eyes; sleep was far from his mind.

He turned his eyes towards the ladder, the vague light outside offering no clues to how long they would remain. Elya rolled slightly, the rustle of fabric loud in the silence of the cottage. As the minutes passed he felt her shift and turn minutely, her forced even breathing. She was not falling asleep. Cullen clenched his fists, stopping himself from reaching out to her, offering comfort. He didn't think it would lead to anything constructive.

Time crawled by before Elya spoke up hesitantly, "Cullen?"

"Yes?" He was just as quiet, barely there sounds that would not travel.

Elya hesitated before speaking once more, then seemed to force herself to continue. "Do you… do you think I could hold your hand?" Shaken, scared, that queen-like composure she normally adopted so easily was now missing.

Cullen instantly searched for her, finding her forearm in the dark and trailing his fingers along her sleeve till he could clasp her hand in one of his. She sighed and held on tightly, slightly shaking. Her fingers were cold now; no doubt the passion of their kiss had faded long ago, leaving her only with the fear.

He cupped his hand around hers, support and comfort instead of amour this time. She had sounded almost like a child, her world strange and confusing and seeking something of stability. Cullen frowned as he soothed his thumb along her fingers. Had she ever had someone to turn to? She was always so composed and serene; had her parents held her hand and her fears at bay when she had been little? Or had it been a nursemaid, as so many aristocratic families hired? Or had she been left all alone?

Elya took a deep breath and let it out shakily, and he felt her relax into the bed. One day she would trust him with the truth; he was certain of it. He kept up his repetitive motions, the gentle brushing comforting to them both. This time, Elya slept.

Cullen clenched his jaw. She wouldn't be alone again. When he had conveyed the packet to the Commander, he would take Elya to Mia's. His sister would watch over her while he was away, would treat her like family. And if he made it back from finding the traitor, Cullen would resign from the army, and he would take his bride home.

* * *

Elya woke when Cullen started abruptly, a curse breaking the silence.

"Maker!" Elya's hand was still warm from where Cullen's own had just moments ago been wrapped around it, but now he was tensed and bodily blocking her from the ladder. "I didn't hear you come in at all."

She scrambled to a sitting position, pushing her hair back from her face. The spirit was back; she could just faintly make out glow of his almost sickly white skin. Despite the fact that he had helped them immeasurable, had saved their lives most likely, Cullen remained wary of him. "Have they moved on?"

The boy came closer, his voice hypnotically smooth as he answered. "Yes. They traveled south along the forest; they are headed to Port Bastia."

"Damn," Cullen gritted out. Elya pressed her lips together. Cullen almost never swore; it boded ill.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, edging forward and placing a hand against his back. The solidness of him seeped through her, eased the rattling of her nerves. Andraste bless him; she had been too frightened to fall asleep, despite the wisdom of Cullen's advice. She just hadn't been able to relax. Had felt as if there were eyes watching her every move, beasts to spring out of the darkness and tear her away. As soon as Cullen had held her, though, she had felt safer. Protected and sure that Cullen was there for her. Just as he made her feel now, knowing that he was deliberately placing himself between the spirit and her.

"Bastia is where my contact is waiting for me. He lives there, so timing wasn't an issue. But if the traitor knows that as well, then my contact is being watched… or is dead already." Elya shivered at the grimness in Cullen's voice, but she pushed through it. She felt his body expand with a huge breath. "It will be a trap."

"Then we must travel to Royan," Elya said firmly. "It is smaller than Bastia, but it still has a steady flow of ships, even with the war. I'm sure we can find some way there." Their options were limited, and Royan was not the type of place many foreigners knew about, so perhaps it would be low on the chevalier's list of places to watch.

Cullen turned slightly, speaking to her over his shoulder but also keeping the spirit in his sights. "Can you guide us there?" When Elya answered affirmatively, he turned back and focused on their visitor. "Very well. I think now would be a good time for you to explain who you are and why you are aiding us. You are a spirit, yes?"

The outline sat on the ground, his face turned upwards to them so that Elya could make out the curve of a cheek, the wisps of pale hair and the gleam of his eyes. "Yes. I am Cole. I help my friends when they are in danger. Elya knows. Elya cares for others."

Compassion. That was what he was a spirit of. And he had been helping Elya just as much as she had been helping the poor animals he had left in her care. "A spirit," Cullen said, "but not a demon."

"No, Cullen, not a demon. Spirits can be as true as humans, just different." Elya remembered her training from when she had lived in Rivain, remembered all the times she had watched the other mages interact with spirits. "Please, trust him." Cullen remained impassive but he was listening. "We have nothing to fear from Cole. I did not know it was him, but he has been aiding me for years." There was so much more to it than that, Cole had given her a purpose when she had been lost, had made her realize where her talents flourished. But these were things that could be spoken of later. Right now they had a very important timeframe.

Cullen seemed to recall that as well, heaving a heavy sigh and then standing up. Elya's fingers trailed down his back as he stood, and she pushed her skirts down around her legs as she quickly followed him. "Thank you Cole." He reached down and offered his hand. "I am grateful for all you have done."

Cole rose with Cullen's help, fluidly standing. "You must hurry. There is no one watching now, but soon there will be."

Elya took that as a sign to start packing, and she sent a spark of magic to the candle on her bedside table. The little flame immediately brightened the loft enough to see and she wasted no time heading to her closet.

Cullen grabbed all the new items that had been left on the doorstep for him and headed towards the ladder. As he started to descend, his whiskey eyes rested on Cole, a question in them. "I suppose I have you to thank for my new clothes?"

Cole shrugged slightly and said, "Elya wished for them."

Their eyes were locked for but a moment before Cullen nodded once. "Then I thank you."

The next half hour was a blur, Elya constantly considering what she needed and what would be of use. She changed into traveling clothes and packed a spare dress, the rest of her candles, a few toiletries. She had little in the way of sentimental objects she wanted to keep, but the herbalist book her mother had given her, and the little book of sketched portraits went into her bag. She twisted her hair into place and pinned it as securely as possible. And then she was done.

She took one last look at her loft room as she climbed down, feeling a lump catch in her throat. It looked much the same, as if she were not leaving forever. All the books could be replaced; she had memorized most of them over the years. The clothing she was leaving was unremarkable and utterly forgettable. The remaining things before her mirror were vanity items that were unnecessary. It was as if she had taken nothing. She extinguished the flame and left.

Cullen had lit a fire to brighten the room, and was in the kitchen, sorting through the food and muttering to himself. When he heard her moving to her work table he looked over. He ran his eyes over her, then to the bag that was only half full. A look crossed his features and furrowed his brow, sadness, pain, resolve. His jaw flexed rhythmically as he fought to find the words, but Elya just gave him a small reassuring smile and went back to work.

Selecting a variety of medicines in sizes and abilities, Elya wrapped them carefully and stored them in her carrying case, making sure they wouldn't break on their journey. Cullen limped slightly as he filled skeins of water and arranged the food into parchment paper wrappings, his grievous injury now little more than an inconvenience. Elya crossed to the chest that held her extra linens and pulled out two blankets, and another cloth bag.

Silently they worked, neither one objecting to what was being done, both approving of the choices made. Elya didn't even notice that Cole had once again disappeared; it did not matter either.

"Is that everything?" Cullen asked, his hands on his hips as he frowned around her small cottage.

Elya went to her work table and pulled out the little drawer where she kept all her money. She quickly counted the total while she placed it all into a drawstring purse and then looped a leather string through the ends. She brought it over her head, turning as she tucked the make-shift necklace down the front of her bodice to conceal between her breasts. "This is the last thing."

For a moment Cullen's face blazed, and Elya found her breath catching in her throat, her stomach jerking at the look. Was that…? But the look quickly passed, Cullen leaning gingerly down to put his boots on. She silently cleared her throat and did the same, and then slipped her still muddied spencer over her brown dress.

At least part of her spencer would match her dress, she thought with a strange bubble of humor. Almost hysterical humor.

"Elya," Cullen held out his hand for her, "Let's go."

She took it instantly, the rough and yet gentle feel of him becoming a lifeline for her. The anxiety and fear that she had been trying so hard not to show eased, her stomach settling so that she no longer felt as if she were going to cast up her accounts. As Cullen opened the door and stepped outside, she let herself look at her home for the last eight years. Cozy, familiar, and a sanctuary from her past.

But she had so much more ahead of her, she prayed. Elya squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. The crease of her brow smoothed, and she smiled at her old home. With one last twist of magic, she caught the flames of the fire and made them vanish. Stepping outside, she quietly shut the door.

Cullen was looking at her worriedly, the questions unasked between them. Elya smiled as she briefly laid a hand on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his growing beard beneath her palm. She knew he could feel the trembling of her fingers, knew that she was scared and uncertain, but that her fortitude and peacefulness were just as strong. "I am well, Cullen. Truly."

Cullen's eyes searched her face before he gave her that half smile that made her lose her train of thoughts. With his gaze locked with hers, he lifted their clasped hands and pressed a kiss to the back of hers.

"Here," a voice called out from the shadows of the barn, making both of them jump. Cole once again materialized from the darkness. This time, though, he was not alone. A horse followed him, a saddle and bridle in place. "You will need her."

Cole handed the reins to Cullen and stepped back, the silver moonlight lightening him up so she could see his steady reassurance. "Thank you, Cole," Elya placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Thank you for everything you have done for me. For us."

Cole nodded, his eyes big and bright. "I helped," was all he said, before he turned and walked into the forest.

Elya blinked, and then noticed that Tansy was out of her stall and placidly eating the grass by her enclosed garden. The chicken's gate was open, though the birds themselves were probably still asleep in their coop. A bright smile broke across her face and she shook her head. Even making sure her animals were not trapped until someone came and claimed them. Cole had indeed helped.

Cullen caught up their bags and tied them onto the saddle, checked the cinch, and then lifted her into place. "Are you ready?" He asked her, his voice quiet.

Elya looked around her little farm, the barn, her vegetable garden, and the dark cottage. Taking a deep breath she looked down at her friend and nodded. "Yes, Cullen. I'm ready."


	16. Chapter 16

Elya didn't remember much from the next two days, just a blur of rain, exhaustion, and the push forward. The spring weather broke early the first morning, drizzling for their journey. They kept moving, riding sometimes at a slow gallop, mostly walking or leading the horse to give her a break. For the few hours they ever stopped, Elya would coax sodden wood to ignite for a fire just large enough to provide heat and to boil water, but never enough to dry off. Beneath the leaves of the forest, Elya would wrap herself in her semi-dry blanket and sleep like the dead.

She didn't know how Cullen remained so alert. It was as if he did not sleep. He was constantly aware of their surroundings, moving them between the road, the forest's edge, and hidden inside the dense underbrush. He knew when someone was coming, when to return to the faster path of the road. He had asked her a few directional questions to Royan when they had first departed, but ever since Cullen had seemed to know where he was going. He was much more skilled at following the world's guiding lines than she was.

Elya roused herself from slumped asleep back against Cullen's chest, the steady movement of the horse familiar again. It had been years since she had been on horseback, but her muscle memory was strong. Once she had taken great pleasure riding; now she was just pleased that she wasn't as sore as she expected to be.

She groaned as she stretched, arching her back and twisting her arms before her. Blinking around blearily, she saw it was early. The sky was clearer today, patches of clouds revealing the brightening blue of a pre-dawn morning. Perhaps about six-thirty, and no longer raining. A very welcome change of pace.

"Where are we?" Elya asked softly, looking around. They were riding next to the forest again, the main road to their right and now larger and wider than it had ever been. If they were getting closer to Royan, they would need to hide from travels often.

Cullen spoke, sounding faintly tired and with an undercurrent of tension. "We passed a signpost some ways back, but couldn't make out the lettering. But can you smell the sea?" Elya closed her eyes and sucked in a lungful; there was just a hint of brine, a touch of the salt water that they were aiming for. "We should reach the coast today. Hopefully we are not too far off to finding Royan."

Elya frowned and her stomach twisted in trepidation. Maker, they were so close to danger, and yet still so far from stopping. She twisted and looked at her friend's face, noting the paleness of his complexion, and most telling, the brackets of pain around his mouth and the whiteness of his still healing scar. "How is your hip?" She probed.

Cullen flicked those whiskey eyes down to hers, before looking up and lying to her. "I'm fine."

"Cullen Rutherford," Elya bit out, "if you do not tell me the truth, and your injury becomes worse, then we will never make it to Ferelden."

A ghost of a smile played along his lips, "You are right, of course. Truthfully, it is a bit painful, but it is still shut. I can feel the pull of the stitches. I'm more frustrated with how weak I have become from the fever and inactivity." Elya pressed her lips together; he was probably downplaying how he felt still, but at least his stitches were holding. What about infection though? A closed wound could still fester.

At her disbelieving silence and critical look, he chuckled again and met her gaze once more. "We will stop in a bit, and I will sleep for a little while. Take care of myself. Deal?"

"Oh, very well," she shook her head at his folly. She understood the circumstance that they were in, but she still couldn't like what he was sacrificing for their speed. "It is a deal. As long as you let me look at the stitches."

A look passed over his face, somehow more gentle and fierce than she had seen before. "You are always looking out for me, aren't you." A statement, not a question.

Elya gulped before answering, slightly breathless, and she blinked away. "Of course," she turned to look ahead, "I fought to save your life once; that… need to protect, to care for you, does not go away."

The arms around her tightened, gently squeezing her, and Cullen dropped his head over her neck, whispering into her ear. "As I, too, feel. Seems we have saved each other."

Elya's heart fluttered and she shivered. Suddenly it was as if they were back on the bed, pressed together in the darkness. The sense of intimacy and closeness enveloped her, and she remembered just how it had felt to be so connected to another human being. Although her heart was pounding, she smiled gently. "Yes, I think so too."

The sun rose as they continued in companionable silence, and Elya closed her eyes and swayed to the rhythm of the horse. The birds were out of hiding, filling the morning hours with their delighted songs and messages. In the hours that slowly moved by, the traffic increased along the road, so soon they were exclusively picking their way through the forest itself. Cullen was quite adept at keeping them parallel to the road, ever towards their destination.

It was a bit after midday when the both smelt the first whiff of smoke; a house was nearby. Cullen pulled the horse to a stop and slid from its back, holding his arms out to help her down. With a suppressed groan she slid to the ground, gingerly moving as she tested her muscles. "Wait here," Cullen whispered, eyes scanning the direction of the smoke.

As she watched, Cullen disappeared into the woods, silent as Cole had been. She pressed her lips together as she paced, working off some of the stiffness and trying to distract herself from her worry. He knew what he was about, she told herself. He was a soldier; he could take care of himself. Yet her eyes still looked to where he disappeared every few seconds.

After what seemed a lifetime, Cullen materialized a grin on his face. "Cullen," she gasped, her hand flying to her throat at the shock he had given her.

"We will rest here," he beamed still, "and I have a surprise for you."

"Really?" Cullen held out a little bundle, his neckerchief, and gently passed it to her. Unwrapping it, she gasped in happy astonishment, "Eggs!"

Cullen chuckled, "Yes, eggs. We can have a real meal today."

Elya's stomach involuntarily rumbled a reminder that their meals had been sparse and filled with mostly chunks of dried meat and small bits of now stale bread. She and Cullen gathered up kindling, and Elya brought a small fire to life with a little burst of magic. "What of the house?" Although she was intent on food, she wanted to know the danger beyond.

Cullen lifted their bags off of the horse and took off the saddle and bit, giving the poor animal a quick brush down and set it to grazing. "A small farm, with an elderly couple firmly ensconced inside. With an unguarded chicken coop. We are a bit away still, but from the house you can see Royan." He settled down at her side, sighing deeply. "We will rest first, eat, then I will go into town and see if I can find transportation."

Elya paused and looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "You would just waltz into town? Knowing you are a hunted man? Cullen, that is folly." He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. "No, it is far too risky. I will go."

Cullen's negligent posture stiffened and he leaned forward, shaking his head. "No- I can't let you."

Elya shrugged and went back to work. "Be logical, Cullen. No one is looking for me. I am a foreigner, yes, but my accent and features are not that of Orlais's enemy. You are obviously more Ferelden than I am. I will make a few discreet inquiries, and if I can't find anything, then you can try."

He frowned fiercely at her words, but he didn't argue… he just looked as if he wanted to. "You must be careful," he finally spoke, taking the cooked eggs she offered. "If anyone treats you suspiciously, I want you to leave immediately."

"I promise you I will take no unnecessary risks." Ten years ago she had left all she had known and had set off into the world all alone; she did know a thing or two about how to barter for passage. She still did not want to tell Cullen about that part of her history, though. It was… ugly; it would change what he thought of her. And she didn't want that, not ever.

They ate their hot meal in silence, both deep in thought and exhausted. The peaceful sounds of a calm forest soothed over her, and soon her eyes were drooping. Her stomach was full, she was not as damp as she had been, and for the moment she felt safe.

She lethargically used the last of her bred to scoop up the final bite of egg, and sighed. She wiped her hands and looked over to where Cullen was. He had stretched out, his food vanished, arms behind his head and his eyes closed. Maker, he could fall asleep fast.

But she needed to check his wound. Gently she got up and crouched at his side, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. "Cullen?" She said softly, "I need to check your hip."

One eye lazily opened, the honey color not as clouded as she had expected. "I remember." He heaved himself upwards and grabbed a blanket. A sudden flush hit her cheeks as he spread the blanket over his lap, working beneath the fabric to rid himself of his breeches. She spun away and grabbed her bag, ostentatiously sorting through her supplies, but really giving him privacy.

"Ready," he sighed as he lay back down; resuming his relaxed position and closed his eyes. Elya licked her lips as she knelt next to him, the blanket flipped back just enough to reveal the neat row of stitches low beneath his hip bone.

It appeared as Cullen said, the cut was still closed and red, but it was not inflamed or angry. No doubt still a bit painful for him, but there was no infection hiding beneath the healing skin, no worry any longer. It was, however, time to remove the stitches. The silk could not be allowed to remain and fester themselves.

"I need to remove the stitches," She informed the seemingly asleep man, "it will feel strange, but shouldn't hurt. Please let me know if it does."

A hint of a smile touched his lips, and he murmured out, "I have had stitches before. I know what to expect." Elya nodded, and with quick work, cut down the crossed lines and gently pulled the cut threads away. Within minutes all that remained was a long red line with red dots down either side. Elya took out her customary salve, smeared it along the mark, and covered him fully.

"All done," she said quietly, returning the contents to her bag. Cullen just hummed in response, and then his breath evened out to a deep and slow melody. He was asleep.

Elya yawned herself. A nap sounded perfect. She curled up into her own blanket, carefully tended to their little fire, and then fell asleep.

* * *

Chantry bells faintly rang through the clearing, pulling Elya from the deep sleep she had been in. She lay still, savoring the fact that she was not moving, before the demands of what she needed to do started to churn her stomach. With a sigh she sat up, shaking the last of sleep away from her.

"Good afternoon," Cullen spoke, and Elya turned to look at him. He was sitting up against a tree and looked much more rested, the few hours of sleep revitalizing him. His beard had grown in once more, the lengths slightly darker than the tangled curls falling over his forehead. He looked a mess, truth be told, his hair both fluffy and slightly frizzy from the rain. A smudge of mud was on his jaw, and there were still shadows beneath his eyes. It should have all added up to Cullen appearing at disadvantage, but the rugged look worked well on him. His eyes were bright and calm, the tension around his mouth gone.

Elya, on the other hand, was sure she looked a fright. Her hair had fallen from its pins so many times she had lost several of them, and she could feel the knots each time she put it back up. The hem of her skirt was six inches deep in mud, her clothes just as water stained as Cullen's were. Her throat was sore, her nose slightly stuffed up; it appeared that she was getting a cold from this adventure.

It would not do to appear in town as she was. No one would find her respectable, or would take her questions seriously. She would have to change.

She sat up and self-consciously released her hair from its pins, finger combing away the tangles. "I believe the town has an inn," she explained to Cullen, feeling the need to distract him from what was normally a private grooming affair. "I will make inquiries there. If that yields no results, I will take a casual walk along the marina." She plaited the deep brown waves into a braid that twisted into a more complex style than she typically wore, carefully pinning it into place.

Cullen stood and started to pace, but he kept his eyes on her. "You must go soon, Elya. The docks are no place for a lady, and never after night." A hard glint was in his eyes, and she knew he was just waiting for an excuse to call her off of her mission.

She pulled out her clean gown, frowning as she shook it out. It was horribly crushed, but it was clean, a large improvement on her current outfit. "I, of course, wish to find a ship quickly," she said with a distracted air, looking around for a spot of privacy to change, "But it might take a while." She spotted a tall clump of dense maple saplings. "I will be careful," she promised again, then slipped out of sight.

It would be heavenly to take a bath, she thought longingly as she slipped her filthy gown off. She winced as she lifted her arms over her head; her stays were rubbing in that same spot on her ribs. She really needed to remove them, but didn't know when she would have the time. Certainly not now.

With one corner of her old gown, Elya rubbed at the dirt on her hands before slipping on the clean one and quickly lacing it together. Within minutes she was back in the clearing. Cullen had saddled the horse once more, and their bags were in place. "Cullen, I thought…"

"I will go with you a little further in, just in case. You will have less distance to travel if something happens." His tone brooked no argument, and truthfully Elya was grateful she would be with him for longer. She was more nervous that she let on. Cullen's life depended on getting him out of Orlais.

"Very well," Elya straightened her spine and restored her familiar aura of serenity. "Let us be off."

The walked side by side through the forest, weaving around the farm Cullen had stolen eggs from and approached Royan from the back side. It was a largish village, with a cluster of houses outside of the main thoroughfare of town proper. They stopped at the edge of the forest, carefully watching the flow of people from a distance. It was larger than her village, Elya saw, her hands twisting in her skirts, but it was later in the day. There were fewer people out than there would be in the morning markets.

A carriage rolled by, then a man on a horse jauntily trotted along. Three pedestrians walked along easily, but there was no urgency to the traffic. No Chevalier's riding through, crying out an alarm. She licked her lips then looked up to Cullen. "I will return within a few hours, if I don't find something. But hopefully it will be sooner than that."

Cullen's lips were a hard, thin line, and he looked as if he wanted to stop her. But he nodded instead, his jaw clenching back the words. One of his hands lifted, and he gently brushed his fingers across her temple, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Be careful," he whispered, his hand lingering for a moment before dropping to clench at his side.

Her eyes wide, brown gaze solemn. "I will be."

Elya turned and crossed between two houses to reach the main street. She looked up and down, noting the shops, the grocers, the town office. It was a nice little coastal town, not overtly prosperous. There was the same sort of worn feel to all the buildings that Elya had noticed at most coastal towns, the salt water keeping paint peeling and roofs constantly in need of patching. But it was bright and clean, the people not furtive or mean looking as they went along their business. Royan was not a smuggling town, more of a small trading hub, if what the shops were advertising was anything to go on. Yet none of the buildings along this street appeared to be the inn. Closer to the docks, perhaps?

She stepped across the road, noticing that though she received a few curious glances, no one appeared too interested. Good, they received enough traffic here that it was not unusual to get strangers.

Passing through another intersection, she saw a number of people heading towards a three story tall building, large windows lit up brightly and facing towards the bay. A large traveling carriage was pulled up to one side, stacks of luggage strapped to the top. There was a steady stream of people moving about the yard. Here was the local inn, and the best place to start.

She followed an elderly woman across the area, listening to all the good natured conversations flowing around her. It sounded as if the traveling coach had just arrived; a lucky thing for her. Most everyone would assume she had come in on the coach, and not from the road.

Inside, the public room had the same worn yet homey feel that the town had. There was an air of easy company, and delicious scents wafted through the air as people sat down to an early supper. Most of the tables were filled, some with families, but many more with clumps of men. The inn appeared to be the local watering hole, the fishermen and sailors gathering here after their day.

Elya looked around for a moment before spotting a small open table. She slipped into a chair, and ordered a pot of hot tea from the cheery maid. Within moments she had a steaming cup in hand, and she breathed in the herbal fragrance appreciatively as best she could through her stuffed nose. She took a sip, the liquid soothing her tight throat.

She carefully watched the dock workers as she lingered over her tea, taking note of those that were in the tavern for drinking or for business. A few likely groups revealed themselves by leaning closer to each other and speaking in quiet conversations. As soon as they split apart, Elya would approach.

She looked down at her cup as she poured another cup, and was startled when someone slid into the empty chair across from her and spoke. The voice, while unknown to her, was speaking in a language that was hauntingly familiar and one she had not heard in over ten years.

"Well, kitten," The woman purred in Rivain, gold flashing from skin that was a slightly darker shade than Elya's. "I hear you are looking for a ship."


	17. Chapter 17

Cullen exercised all his will to keep from pacing while he waited. Instead he kept his vigil leaned against a tree, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he constantly scanned the little bit of Royan he could see. Pacing would draw the eye to his suspicious behavior.

He didn't like this one bit. Elya should not be alone in a hostile environment while he waited in the bushes. Never mind she was not actually in a hostile environment; no one was on the lookout for her as of yet, but any number of things could happen. Never mind the fact that she had lived on her own for any number of years quite successfully, and was therefore obviously adept at handling any number of situations.

But arranging passage to a country that is the current arch enemy of the one you are in would be outside the normal scope of things. By the Fade, he wasn't even sure if he could manage to discreetly arrange it, and he had practice in such covert negotiations. They would need a miracle, or a fortune's worth of coin to buy their way… and he knew they did not have a fortune.

Picking up none of his tension, the stolen horse next to him contentedly grazed at the fresh spring grass, pleased to no longer be moving. They had pushed the beast hard the past few days, and he deserved the rest. If things did not work here in Royan, they would need to rapidly move onto the next town and try again. Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He hoped it would not come to that, though. Elya was exhausted. He suspected she was becoming ill, heard the deeper roughness of her voice and the little sniffles she tried to hide. And if he kept pushing himself as he had been, he would likely be joining her. They couldn't afford that.

The sun was starting its final descent, the world saturated with the light. Elya had left not too long ago, but soon it would be dark. It was not enough time, blast it. He should have woken her from her nap sooner, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to disturb her rest. Curled into her blanket, she had looked so serene and fragile, clearly fatigued from their constant travel. He had not guessed at the depths of her willpower, although he should have. She had not complained during their flight, had been a trooper through the rain and hunger. He wished that more of his soldiers were as strong as she was. Or as well trained in the healing arts.

Through the town, a large traveling coach rattled east, luggage and a few men on the roof, passengers crammed inside. Presumably it was one of the commercial lines, moving on from the inn and picking up speed as it left. He tightened his jaw, feeling anxiety bubble in his stomach; less strangers for Elya to blend into, and a rougher element would start appearing. Smugglers and thieves emboldened by the darkness would come out of the woodwork.

He would wait for her just a little longer, and then he would go looking for her. Never mind that people might be looking for him, he just couldn't…

A faint rustling pricked Cullen's ears, and he looked to his left, scrutinizing his surroundings intently. The sound continued, and seemed to be coming closer towards him. Large, he could tell, probably human. They were making no attempt to disguise themselves, the crack of twigs breaking underfoot and pushing against branches. That must mean they did not know he was here… or they were causing a disturbance deliberately.

Cullen pushed away from the tree and settled into a fighting stance. Although he had no weapon, he still had some abilities to protect himself. Keeping his senses attuned to his surroundings, just in case this was a ploy, he focused on where the disturbance in the underbrush was getting steadily closer.

Out of the brush pushed a fully grown Mabari, his mouth open and tongue lolling. As soon as the dark brown animal saw Cullen, his hindquarters started wiggling as he shook his stump of a tail and he pranced up to Cullen with nary a care in the world. Cullen could have sworn that the dog was even smiling.

Cullen's arms fell slack at his side, more shocked than if the Commander had burst into the clearing. "Where in the Fade did you come from?" He knew he sounded incredulous; he had never expected to see such a solidly Ferelden dog in the countryside of Orlais.

For such a fierce war hound, the Mabari was behaving very friendly. He continued with his enthusiastic wiggling, turning in tight little circles before heavily leaning into Cullen's legs, slobbering happily. With a stifled rush of breath at the heavy weight pressing into him, Cullen leaned down and scratched behind the small pointed ears.

That was apparently the animal's weakness, for the Mabari let out a chuffing groan and collapsed onto Cullen's feet, rolling onto his back as he exposed his belly for petting. Unable to resist the charismatic appeal of the dog, Cullen dropped to a crouch to really dig into scratching the mud covered fur. "Hey boy," he crooned softly, "where is your partner?" There was no such thing as a feral Mabari; they were just too prized and too rare. This one must have his human partner around somewhere… yet it was odd that the animal was behaving so friendly towards him. Had this one somehow never imprinted on anyone?

He was barrel chested with the typical smaller hind legs and the short muzzle. As Cullen scratched at his belly, he noticed the mud flaking off the short wiry hairs and revealing a lighter colored fur beneath. He was too skinny, not enough muscle and heft for a dog his size. The open mouth revealed stained teeth, on the verge of rot. Cullen shook his head; this Mabari was not being looked after. No one would treat their Mabari so poorly.

Fishing in his pocket, Cullen pulled out the last of his jerky. The Mabari immediately rolled onto his stomach, his dark brown gaze locked onto the meat with a hungry reverence, but he did not stand and snatch it from Cullen's hand. Cullen offered it between wary fingers, cautious of what he would do. With the politest manners, the dog gently took it with his teeth and pulled back. Then in an instant he tossed his head back, and the jerky was gone. Cullen chuckled and shook his head. Poor boy probably didn't even notice such a small piece. But he was licking his lips most reverently, a hopeful look in his eyes as he stared up at Cullen. "Sorry boy, that was the last of it."

The Mabari seemed to shrug and then push himself upward. He sniffed the ground, slowly moving around the small clearing with his nose to the dirt. Cullen instantly saw what the issue was, why the animal had most likely been cast aside. He limped badly as he walked, his front left leg giving him a jerky gait. It didn't seem to cause him pain, but it would be seen as defective in a fighting dog for many narrow minded people.

An animal… in need of healing. Cullen peered around the clearing suspiciously. An injured animal stumbling upon the person who was traveling with a skilled animal, and sometime human, healer. Cullen doubted the Mabari coming across this little clearing was a coincidence. Cole. He sensed Cole's hand in this meeting.

The horse was nervous as the Mabari sniffed at his nose, but the dog behaved gentlemanly, leaving the animal alone and limped back to Cullen. There was no gash or scar that Cullen could see, nothing to indicate what had caused his limp. The intelligent brown eyes stared up at him, and the blocky head tilted to the side in question. One woof escaped the toothy mouth, and Cullen instantly shook his head. "No boy, we are in hiding. We don't want people to know we are here so we must keep quiet. We are just waiting for Elya to return." Cullen frowned at Royan, looking for her glossy dark hair to appear at his words as if by magic.

A faint whine followed his words, and the Mabari stood and spun, planting himself next to Cullen and gazing out from their vantage point.

Cullen shook his head as he looked down at his apparent new companion. Had Cole truly somehow arranged this meeting? And the Mabari was content to stay with him, somehow knowing they were waiting for Elya. Was that it, just a little scratching and a piece of jerky? Had Cullen been accepted so easily?

The Mabari kept his eyes trained on the road, watching as carefully as Cullen had been. It was impractical… they couldn't take him with them… Cullen reached down and scratched behind the Mabari's ears. The dog obviously appreciated the attention, but he kept his focus, as a good guard dog did. A crazy smile broke over Cullen's face. Did this mean he had a dog now?

* * *

Elya gaped at the beautiful and flashy woman negligently slouched across from her. Gold earrings dangled from her ears, an enormous gold necklace enveloped her neck and hung down over her collarbones, and a little golden ball nestled beneath her lip. Her dress was scandalously loosely laced up the front, the long skirt slit up the sides to reveal breeches beneath. A scarf was wrapped around her unbound hair, and dark charcoal was smudged around her vibrant eyes. There was a casualness in her manner, yet she also seemed poised on the brink of action. She was dangerous, Elya thought, yet there seemed to be a touch of empathy in her eyes.

"What… how did you know?" Elya stumbled over her words, surprise and lack of use making her Rivain rusty and awkward. She could still read the language well, remembered some songs, but she had not spoken it with another soul since her mother's disappearance.

"Know that you need a ship?" The woman leaned forward onto her elbows, revealing the deep crevice of her cleavage. The woman oozed sensuality, a fact that many of the men in the common room were very aware of. Elya clasped her hands together, uncomfortable with the amount of attention they were drawing. How were she and Cullen expected to remain anonymous while in such a striking presence? Thank the Maker she had made Cullen wait for her; he would have been picked out in a second if he had been seen with her.

"Yes," Elya supplied, hesitant to say much to the stranger.

"Let's just say that my… friend knows your friend. He explained your situation to us." Her friend? Cullen? When had he had the time to speak to her? Or was it Cole?

"How much do you know?" It seemed foolish to tell the stranger everything, but there were important things for them to discuss.

Her gaze swept the room before she spoke. "That your friend is in possession of important information; that he needs to disappear from here. And that I am able to make that happen."

"Then you can help us?" Elya's stomach fluttered; was this really going to be so easy? "You can take us to…" She stopped herself from saying Ferelden. Even speaking in another language, that country's name was obvious and immediately suspicious.

"Across the sea?" The woman supplied, amusement in her voice. She leaned back against her chair again, stretching her legs out in front of her, nodding her head towards the maid who hurried over with a mug. "I can take you, but not for free. I'm a business woman, I provide a service." She flipped a coin to the maid and took a deep draught of the presumed ale.

"Oh," Elya clenched her hands around her tea cup, wishing that there was still warmth in the liquid. "Yes, of course." She had some funds, but surely it wasn't enough to pay for passage for both her and Cullen. When they landed in Ferelden, would they be able to pay then?

"I… we have little in the way of payment," Elya began slowly, "but I know that the King would be most appreciative of the help, and will compensate you accordingly." It was a lie, but hopefully not far from the truth. If she and Cullen managed to reach the King in time, that is.

"Hmm," a pleased smirk slowly spread over the woman's face as she thought about it. "The King in debt to me… I rather like the sound of that. Very well," she leaned forward, "we have a deal. I'm Captain Isabela, and my ship is Siren's Call. We set sail when the last Chantry bell tolls, so you better be waiting at the end of the third dock before then. I will leave a boat and a man waiting for you."

Elya nodded and glanced out the window, gathering her courage, calling on her serenity. It would not do to show fear. "I am Elya and my friend will introduce himself to you when you meet. Captain Isabela, if I may… how do I know that you will not hand us over to the Chevaliers as soon as we are dependent on your mercy?"

Isabela tossed her head and laughed heartily, "Maker, what a question!" She settled back down and took another drink, although the smirking smile still lingered on her lips. "I have no love for Orlais; I find its people stuffy and dull. However, I am a smuggler, kitten. I tend to like countries at war; its citizens are ever so dependent upon the goods I provide… and willing to pay the elevated price, of course." Elya blinked at the easy way she revealed her illegal activities.

"I ply my trade between Ferelden and Orlais. With my business, I have no interest in authorities. Even if I gave them you and your friend, what is to stop them from searching my ship for any other oddities? Or from remembering me later on? A smuggler relies on anonymity. Besides, what is a Chevalier to a King? At least for this trip and the promise of your payment, my crew and I will keep your secret."

With that, Elya would have to be satisfied. There was risk to Cullen moving forward, but this opportunity seemed to be Maker sent. They would have to trust Isabela.


	18. Chapter 18

The rain clouds that had dogged them the past few days were highlighted by the vibrant peach-pink of sunset. The reflection washed the little village in hue, turning the white paint a pretty color as Elya briskly stepped out into the bustling courtyard. She could still scarce believe her luck, and she and Cullen had no choice but to embrace it and move forward… cautiously of course.

She shivered slightly at the change in temperature; the common room of the inn had been toasty warm, a blessed welcome with the hot tea. Although they were headed for summer, it still would be a few months before the warmth of that season caught up with the nights. And she had left her ruined spencer with Cullen.

She set off at a serene pace, retracing her path through Royan. Outside of the yard there were few people walking around now, instead the residents were safely ensconced home for the night. There was no one to see Elya cross the street and head between two cottages. Well, she hoped that Cullen was watching for her. The shadows had descended on the forest, hiding the secrets it sheltered. Her eyes passed repeatedly over the hollows, looking for her friend, but she saw nothing.

Her feet faltered, were not obeying her as her heart started pounding. Where was he? She gulped and forced herself to move forward. She winced at each overly loud step, the branches cracking beneath her half-boots, the loud rustle of branches as she pushed through to the clearing. There was nothing. Cullen was gone, nothing to indicate he had even been there.

A paralyzing fear descended over her; had he been captured? Had Cullen been hurt? Or… had Cullen left her?

Terrible memories rushed into her as she stood frozen. Watching her father sail away, worried for what he was going to attempt. How her mother had been agitated over the next few months, her usual vibrant countenance becoming more sullen and harrowed. The loving way she had always looked at Elya slowly changing to resentment. If Elya had not been there, her mother could have left to go with her father. And then when the worst had happened, the bitter hardness that had taken over her mother's once bright spirit. Elya watching her mother leave her, her mission and future no longer including the burden of a daughter.

The painful past crashed over Elya, leaving her stunned, shivering. She couldn't see, lost within herself. The wounds felt fresh again, as if she hadn't spent years running from what had happened, as if she hadn't spent years learning to live with the fact that, at the end, her mother had not loved her. That she was alone in the world. Elya wrapped her arms around herself, curling around the ball of pain that had taken over her heart. "Cullen?" She whispered out, almost a whimper.

A rustling jerked her head up to the far side of the clearing, and Cullen stepped out. Elya stared, scarce able to believe that he was there. A part of her had been sure that he had left her as soon as he had been able to. She greedily drank in the dark, familiar form, suddenly wishing that it was full daylight out so every detail would be revealed to her.

"Elya?" Concern poured out of him, and before she knew it, Cullen was across the clearing, his arms strong as he hauled her to him. Instinctively she released her hold on her own body to wrap around his waist, grasping for the care that he unhesitatingly bestowed. "What is the matter?" Elya shuddered as he held onto her tightly, the solidness of him pulling her from the past and firmly setting her back into the present.

She suddenly could breathe again, and she pressed her forehead into his shoulder as she sucked in gulps of air, letting the shivers work their way out of her system. Cullen's hands roamed over her back in firm circles, "Elya, what happened? Are you alright?" She could hear his worry, knew she had to say something to assuage his concern.

"I thought you left me," She blurted out, keeping her face buried. Mortification swept through her as soon as she said anything, and she forced out a short laugh, then winced. Even she could hear how fake it sounded.

Cullen paused, his hands going up to her shoulders and pulling her away just enough to look at her. Elya kept her face lowered, ashamed at her rampant emotions. Ladies were not to show what they were feeling. Cullen, though, was having none of it. He gently tilted her face up, his thump absently brushing along her jawline. That strange look was on his face again, the one Elya didn't know what it meant. But heated tingles started to prickle along her limbs, bringing her frozen body back to life. "Elya," he said very seriously, "I would never do that to you."

A trembling smile broke over her lips; she believed him. She felt his words impact her down to her bones and she finally relaxed fully. "Thank you Cullen. I… I needed to hear that." This was Cullen, not her mother. The past still affected her, but for the moment, it did not affect the two of them together.

There was a change in the energy of the air, a sweet tension sprang up between there. As the sunset faded and brought the darkness of night down fully, Cullen slowly lowered his golden head. His eyes were searching hers as he brushed his lips against her own. Elya sighed, her lashes fluttered closed as she sank against his chest again. She wanted his kiss, wanted the tenderness with which he held her to fill her up. As Cullen's lips moved along hers, she felt her blood begin to surge through her again.

She remembered the wondrous feelings from the last time they had kissed, and she moved in closer to Cullen. When he tasted her bottom lip, she kissed him back. Their lips caressed each other, and Elya relished the feeling of his body pressed against hers, her fear banished. Warmth curled in her chest, and she hummed contentedly.

Reluctantly, lingeringly, Cullen pulled away, his thumb brushing her jaw once more before he sighed heavily and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tucking her close. He dropped his chin on top of her hair and Elya could hear the hint of frustration in his voice as he murmured out, "Not the right place; not the right time."

She chuckled and closed her eyes, her head pressed to his shoulder. She wished that they could kiss as they had back at her cottage, but she supposed that it was impractical. They were supposed to be doing something… for the moment, though, all that seemed important was listening to the strong beat of Cullen's heart and to feel him here with her.

A rough and wet something brushed her hand and Elya yelped, instinctively jumping and pulling away from Cullen. They both turned, and there Elya saw a giant dog barely containing his excitement while sitting. Steady beats came from the docked tail that was thumping against the ground, his tongue rolled out of his mouth as he stared up at Elya. "Cullen, is that…?"

Cullen laced his finger through hers, then offered her palm out to the animal. "A Mabari. He just happened to stumble upon me while you were away." The dog sniffed at their combined hands, happily cleaned whatever minute traces of food they had, and then stood and sniffed around at Elya's skirts.

"Limping?" And obviously undernourished. She was surprised at the state the poor animal was in. She had only lived in Ferelden for a year, but she knew the care and pride they took in their Mabari. "He just happened to find you?"

Cullen squeezed her hand and she look up at him. He shrugged and half smiled, "Cole."

She nodded instantly, "Of course. Cole." The Mabari moved around her, uncaring that she was a stranger, treating her as if he had known her for years. "He is surprisingly… not frightening." She expected a war hound to feel more intimidating to a newly met stranger, and he certainly had the sharp, predator look, but with the perky ears and the lolling tongue, he looked nothing much more than an overgrown puppy.

Elya reached down and tentatively petted the broad head. He immediately lifted into her hand, a chuffing noise coming from the back of his throat as his whole body started wiggling. Elya giggled softly, charmed at the display of affection. "You are such a nice boy, aren't you?" Moonlight glinted off of razor sharp teeth and nails, but Elya didn't see any of that.

A lowering thought occurred to her, and she felt her stomach sink. "Oh," she whispered out. "We won't be able to bring him, will we? How would we lift him onto the ship?"

Cullen suddenly grasped her upper arms, turning her. "A ship? You found a way back?" She heard the intensity in his voice, and it snapped her back to attention. She unthinkingly brought her hands to rest against his chest, moving slightly closer to him.

"Yes, oh I am sorry! Yes, I have found us a captain willing to deliver us to Ferelden." Elya quickly relayed all that hand transpired, and how Isabela had already known what Elya had been searching for.

For a long moment Cullen was quiet, and she knew that he was thinking heavily about it. "I cannot like it," he slowly spoke. "It feels too easy. This friend of ours she spoke of… who could it be?"

Elya sighed, "If it is not you, I was thinking Cole."

Elya felt his smile as he repeated her words back to her. "Of course. Cole." He was peering down at her curiously. "The spirit seems to have attached himself very strongly to you." She shrugged, unable to explain with words. For years the boy spirit had been her only source of companionship, despite the fact that she had never spoken with him. The knocks on her door, the animals he so carefully brought to her, the small gifts he had left, Elya had been grateful for each one. They had a bond.

"I will not gainsay his friendship. Sometimes it feels like he has been sent by Andraste herself. I am grateful to him."

"As am I," Cullen murmured deeply.

Another worry was tickling at her, so she asked, "The payment I spoke with Captain Isabela about, the King providing a favor? Will he?"

Cullen immediately eased her concern. "If I know the King, then yes he will. And if for some reason he does not, I will pay her accordingly." A weight lifted from her shoulders; if Cullen said he would take care of it, she had no doubt that he would.

A shiver wracked her body, her chill coming from the natural temperature this time. Instantly Cullen's hands briskly ran up and down her arms, creating a pleasant friction heat. "Come. Tell me the plan while you put on your spencer."

Elya explained the details as she followed Cullen through the thicket to where the horse dozed in the shadows. Cullen listened carefully as he pulled out the warmer material, helping her to slip it over her arms and shoulders. Elya sighed at the slight help it was; she couldn't help but yearn for the warmth of the inn and another strong cup of tea.

"We have some little time," Cullen crossed his arms over his chest and sunk into thought. The Mabari sank down at his feet with an undignified huff, lowering his head onto crossed paws. The poor dear, Elya shook her head. Why had Cole brought him to them if they just had to leave him behind?

"What were you doing back in here?" Elya asked, crouching to rub the dog's back. He immediately rolled and presented his stomach, ecstatic wheezes telling of his joy.

Cullen absently muttered, "There was a commotion on the road. I thought it best to remain completely out of site for a time."

A soldier looking for them? A messenger alerting others? Or an informant on their way to betray their location? The possibilities were dangerously endless. Oh, Elya would be glad when they were in Ferelden! This constant worry over Cullen was difficult to handle. She smoothed her features into the neutral mask, determined to push aside her fear.

Cullen finally spoke. "We shall return to the farm we passed, leave our horse with them. Then walk through the village and to the docks. It isn't the best plan, I admit, but it would make us appear casual. Avoiding drawing attention would be our best bet."

Elya stood with a silent groan, a sudden rush of exhaustion moving over her. No matter the ordeal of an ocean crossing, it would be good to be able to sleep for longer than a few short hours at a time. In the dark they slipped back through the trees in the general direction they had come. Lights twinkled merrily from windows, and Elya thought longingly of her own comfortable cottage. But that was behind her now.

They were a bit off in their directions, ending up almost on top of the house itself. The Mabari slipped stealthily alongside them and just a bit ahead. He pulled up short and planted himself in their path; Cullen forced to stop to not run him over. There was the sound of a laugh, a few exchanged words, then a door shutting. The Mabari had prevented them from dashing into the clearing and being spotted. Cullen's praise was almost impossible to make out, but Elya knew it was sincere.

"Wait here, Elya. I will return momentarily." He looked down at the gigantic hound and told him firmly, "Stay." Cullen lifted their bags off the saddle, and she gave the horse a farewell pat on its rump. He had served them well.

As soft as the shadows, Cullen led the animal away, and the Mabari stayed where he was, obeying Cullen's command precisely. What a good boy he was. If only they could…

Within moments Cullen was back, a smile on his face as he swung their packs onto his back. "Let's hurry. We cannot be late." He pushed is way through the underbrush, heading towards the road, and she and the dog closely followed behind. The bags were significantly lighter, their supplies gone. Only the blankets and the few things Elya had packed remained. It was strange to see all her worldly possessions in so small an area. She shivered once again, the uncertainty of the future creeping in on her.

The exited the forest and stopped, looking around them. When only the sounds of Royan greeted them, they knew they could continue. The clouds skittered across the star studded sky, the light of a small moon just enough for her to make out the gleam of Cullen's hair, his grin, the easy way he held himself. With a gallant bow, Cullen held out his arm, "May I escort you, my lady?"

Elya was unable to resist the softening of tension, an answering smile rising to place. He was such a gentleman, and somehow always knew what she needed. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he pulled her closer than was strictly allowed, covering the hand resting on his arm with his own. They moved down the path, their steps unhurried and tranquil. How lovely this was! And if anyone were to see them, they would only suspect the couple to be courting each other, not that they were fugitives on the run.

Lanterns lit the walkway that lead past the inn and towards the ramps that lead down to the docks. Elya counted each one out, pointing to the third one; with any luck Captain Isabela would be a woman of her word and they would find a boat waiting for them. The inn was louder than it had been, vitality in its laughter and light. Yet she did not wish to go inside. Instead, she sent a small stream of magic to each lantern they were approaching, dimming the flames to keep Cullen as shadowed as possible.

They reached the top of the third dock, when Cullen stopped abruptly. He let out a huge sigh and turned, looking down at the Mabari who had trailed behind them through the town. Elya let her arm slip away as Cullen crouched, his hands rubbing all along the short fur. "I'm sorry boy, but this is where we must part. You must stay." The Mabari leaned into Cullen's body as he wiggled around, searching for the best pet.

Since the dog had obeyed the command to stay just a few short minutes ago, Elya expected him to once more. When Cullen ushered her down the short ramp, however, the Mabari limped along behind them. Cullen turned and frowned down at the animal. "Stay," he repeated, his best command voice in place. The blocky head just tilted to the side and he blinked, tongue lolling.

Cullen shook his head and grumbled half-heartedly, but it appeared that the Mabari was not going to obey his instructions this time. So Cullen allowed him to follow as they slipped past any number of boats tied in place. Elya was frowning, worried about the poor dear. Would anyone care for him when they were gone? If only she had had time to look at his leg, perhaps she could have done something for him.

As they continued down the quay, the darkness became deeper, no one else around. Yet Elya caught glimpses of a two-masted ship out in the deep waters of the bay, bright and bustling with activity. Her breathing quickened, which caused her to cough, but the resigned dread pushed aside her incoming cold.

She was not a good sea traveler.

The end of the dock suddenly opened up for them, and there was a man next to a small boat. He looked up as they approached, eyes wary until they came into the light of his small lantern. His looked over her assessing, then to Cullen, and then finally to the large Mabari pressed between the two of them.

He sighed heavily. "I was a'hopin your animal be smaller than Dog, but he ain't." He pushed on his knees to stand, shaking his head in weary resignation. "Well, com'on in then. The beast last, or he'll tip us." He picked up his lantern and climbed into the boat, muttering "With two lumbering beasts, no one'll get any peace."

He had been expecting the Mabari.

Shock froze both Elya and Cullen for a moment, their wide eyes meeting each other's before the hound at their knees jostled them with a decidedly impatient woof. Incredulous smiles spread over their faces, and they both said, "Cole."


	19. Chapter 19

The boat gently rolled from side to side with the salty breeze, tiny as the camped passengers skimmed across the bay towards the ship looming ever larger. Cullen set himself before Elya, allowing her the broad stern and space away from the unknown element of sailor, while the large war hound stuck his nose up in the salty sea air or against Elya's face.

Tension thrummed in his shoulders, and he carefully kept an eye on the stranger in the boat with them. The older man acted as if nothing was off with his task and seemed uncaring in their identities, but it could be a plot. His recent betrayal stung sharply along his senses, keeping a gaping well of suspicion around his instincts.

He realized that he didn't trust himself anymore; those instincts he had relied upon so heavily had not warned him of the dagger in the dark. The friend who had stood beside him with assurance had only been waiting for his chance. Samson… the bastard had fooled him completely.

He would trust in Elya's judgment, though. He had seen her use her wits and abilities with powerful results. She had believed that this deal would be their best and safest option, and so he believed her. Still, Cullen itched for a sword, deeply ingrained training wishing for the safety such a weapon could bestow.

His constant scanning stopped so he could look at Elya, saw her jaw was clenched tightly, as she gulped repeatedly. Her hands were wrapped around the edge of the boat, knuckles stark against her skin. She didn't look nervous; she looked like she was carefully counting her breaths, waiting to get off the boat. Did she not know how to swim?

The only one who seemed to be enjoying their 'adventure' was the Mabari. He still remained quiet, obeying Cullen's command, but he seemed to enjoy their movement across the water, little shuffling taps as he resisted the urge to jump into the dark waves. His nose waved in the air, every so often shoving coldly against Elya's cheeks, causing her to jump and gasp slightly, but she never opened her eyes to look at the relaxed dog.

That the Mabari felt no danger was taken into consideration as well… but he just couldn't let this overgrown puppy be the complete measure of Elya's safety.

The closer they got to the ship, the quicker the wind filled in, until little white caps sprung up around them. The Siren's Song was ready for departure, awaiting its last cargo before leaving the safety, and confinement, of Royan's harbor.

The old sailor shuttled his oars, and the little boat lightly bumped happily to its mother, the gentle ease speaking of long years of experience by their sculler. "Ahoy Siren! Passengers an 'nother blasted beast awaitin'!" His voice was loud enough to reach up above, but would not carry.

Cullen watched closely, and blinked as a pixie face peeped over the side. The brief glimpse wasn't enough for him to make out more than dark hair and a sharply elegant face before it disappeared, but there was no mistaking the excited, "Oh, goodness!" that came down to them.

He frowned, but it was more of bewilderment; there was something very disarming about those words and their tone, and he felt some of his worry melt away. Glancing back to Elya he saw that she did not seem to share his sentiment. If anything, she was grim as she stared up the hull of the tall ship. He reached over and covered her hand, latching onto her gaze. She wasn't afraid, he saw, more assured of their safety than he was. No, there was something else contributing to her narrowed lips and stark eyes.

"Can ya climb?" Their sailor hitched a thumb to the steps cut into the side, precarious footholds slick with salt water.

Elya looked at them warily, and Cullen shook his head, "Her skirt…"

The man was already nodding. "'Course. Can ya jump on the beast's sling? Hold on tight'n all?" As if conjured by his words, above them a creaking contraption swung over the side, slowly started to lower down to them. The frame of wood held wide bands of cloth and rope, and when it reached their level, the sailor settled it on the inner confines of the boat, waving Cullen out of the way to make room. "Here beast," he coaxed, gruff with annoyance as he gestured to the Mabari. But Cullen could have sworn there was affection beneath the words. Why a sailor would like a Mabari, he didn't understand. The two were practically opposites.

Their new traveling companion limped forward, eagerly obeying the command to stand in the middle of the frame. With deft hands, the sailor went to work on the material, shortening and tightening so that soon the Mabari had a sling around his chest and belly, the supports snug against coarse fur. The dog just panted, his ears swiveling idly.

"Your turn, love," beckoning Elya towards him with impatience. Cautiously she stood from her seat, turning her hand so that she gripped Cullen instead of the boat. He shifted with her; minimize the rocking of their little conveyance, his hand slipping to her waist as he helped ease her closer to the Mabari lift. "Step here, and here," the man instructed, and then all too soon Elya let go of his hand to grip the rope tightly. Cullen felt the curve of her linger against his palms as she stepped away.

"Hold fast," he grumbled to Elya, then called up, "Haul away!"

A jerk shuddered down the rope, and Elya's eyes flew to his, wide and uncertain as slowly the lift was pulled upward. Cullen's stomach clenched and he dug into the rungs, determined to be on the deck of the ship before Elya reached the top.

He climbed swiftly, scarce noticing the ropes headed down to pull the dinghy aboard, or the curious eyes watching as he vaulted over the side, racing across the deck to meet Elya as the sling gently eased down. The lights over the deck gleamed orange yellow, caught his eyes and set them aflame as Elya reached for him before the lift stopped moving, and Cullen pulled her close, tucking her against him as he then spun around to assess their position.

Three women stood still among the bustle, surveying them with different expressions, but none of them were hostile. Cullen recognized the shortest one as the face who had looked down on them, an elf with Dalish markings inked over her pale skin. She wore a broad, friendly smile, and fairly bounced up and down on her bare toes. Next to her was a woman who looked similar to Elya in a way; naturally dark skin and black-brown hair. A big, extravagant hat shadowed her face but did not hide the gleam of the gold adorning her body or the amused smirk on her lips. Her eyes lingered on his hand wrapped possessively around Elya's waist, her smile inching just a tad wider. Thirdly was a tall woman with sharp blue eyes and a tousled cap of black hair. She was not looking at them at all; actually smiling at the Mabari currently being loosened from the swing, a mischievous grin highlighting laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

"Captain Isabela," Elya curtsied as best she could with Cullen pressed to her, as graceful as ever. Her earlier grimness was hidden, perhaps better pleased now they were on the ship. "Thank you for your help."

"Oh, this is so very exciting!" The small elf exclaimed, her voice accented with a strange rolling burr that was pleasing and likable. "We haven't had guests in an age." She bent at the waist to speak to the one who was not the captain, "Hawke, isn't it going to be so much fun?"

Hawke kept her eyes glued to the Mabari now fully escaped from the harness, watched as the hound put his nose to the deck and started to thoroughly sniff all the new scents. "It will be interesting to see how this one and Dog handle each other." So there was another dog onboard. It would be interesting indeed; he would have to make sure that the Mabari behaved himself around the smaller dog.

Cullen kept one ear on the conversation, and another listening to the crew moving around them, his eyes assessing their situation. Men and women waited for their next orders, eyeing the newcomers with curiosity, not hostility. They were all healthy, lithe and strong. While there was certain an air of disreputable intelligence about them, they were obviously well cared for and the glances they gave to the three women were full of respect. This was not a ship full of typical smugglers.

And they all were far too young and good looking. It seemed like their oarsman was the only person above fifty in the crew. Their eyes trailed up and down Elya and Cullen, lingering appreciatively over the calm composure Elya's beautiful face now reflected. He knew what they saw, had gazed with admiration at her himself whenever he could. Her beauty mirrored in her calm assurance and simple dress. While others were flash and quicksilver and fire like these three women before him, Elya was… Elya was a breath, the gentleness of a breeze on rippling the waters of the pond in Honnleath. For Cullen, there was nothing more shining, more precious, than that, and he could see others who agreed with him.

He watched a man's dark eyes linger on the swell of Elya's breasts beneath her modest gown, the gleam of desire too blatant.

He didn't know why he let it get to him, just knew the compulsion was too strong to resist. And it felt _right_. He turned his attention back to Captain Isabela and bowed with courtly manner, but he kept his arm wrapped around Elya's waist. "Captain, ladies," he turned to the others as well. "My wife and I are in your debt."

* * *

 _My wife._

Elya's surprise manifested itself only in the small gasp, a slight stiffening of her spine. A curious sort of heat dropped as a curtain over her body, descending from her head, down her cheeks and throat and wrapped around her chest. Faintly, she knew she was blushing, grateful that her ability to remain politely impassive kept her from projecting her astonishment.

Had… had Cullen really just said that? She was to pretend to be his wife?

Distantly she realized that Cullen was talking to the Captain still, but she couldn't force herself to pay attention. Against her side, Cullen's hand burned through her dress, her stays, pouring sensations through her skin. His tone was casual, but he tightened his grip, pulling her just a fraction closer. His thumb swept gently. As an apology for the lie? It scrambled her wits even more.

Married. A girlish dream she had given up years ago when she had disappeared from her old life. There had been a time when it had been all she had wanted, foolishly believing it was the pinnacle of what she should strive for: marriage to a respectable man. She had matured and learned much since then, had put aside that dream as she found a purpose in life. But… marriage to Cullen…

She was shaken, needed to think, but the voices around her and the eyes on her prevented that. Her hands clasped together tightly, hiding their tension in the folds of her skirt.

She had missed what Cullen had said, missed the conclusion of the conversation. Her attention snapped back into focus as the Captain clapped her hands, then motioned her pointer finger in an encompassing circle. "Let's move," she raised her voice, and all around them the crew jolted into fast motion. "I want to be out of here before the next bell." She then turned to the small elf and briefly touched her cheek, tracing along the sharp cheekbone. "Merrill, show our guests to their cabin?"

Merrill nodded with enthusiasm and bounced over to them and waved toward the stern of the ship, "Let's go down this way, so your Mabari can get down below too." She held out a hand to the war hound sniffing at her bare toes, cooing "Are you going to eat all the shoes too?" She got a sharp little bark and a wet hand for her questions. "Sweet doggie, aren't you?"

Elya wanted to look up at Cullen, but she forced her eyes to remain trained on the elf, far too aware of his body pressed to hers. Her heartbeat was too rapid, and she wished she could gulp in deep breaths, but that was far too telling. If she looked at him, would he be able to read the wild emotions inside her? Somehow he always seemed to tell what she was thinking now.

Dizzy. She felt so dizzy.

As they reached the doors to the walkway, there was the sound of heavy canvas slipping against each other, and she looked up in time to see the sails unfurl. They paused to watch the surefooted movements of the sailors as they lashed ropes into place. The breeze, while not strong inside the bay, was enough to fill out the sails, and the boat slid into motion, slowly easing them out to sea.

Hastily Elya's eyes latched onto the condition of the waves, but she was too far away to tell. She let Cullen guide her towards the entrance, light now spilling forth and revealing a small vestibule with doors into another room and to the side a set of stairs gradually sloping down.

Merrill smiled widely, indicating the doors made of heavy wood, "This is Isabela's, Hawke's, and my room, in case you need anything." She started down the steps, followed closely by the Mabari. "Of course, Dog's room too."

Elya stepped inside, and the breeze was cut of quickly, leaving the air close and warm. Heat prickled up her back, a faint brush of sweat rising on her lip. She discreetly brushed it away as she started down the steps.

Slightly deliriously she glanced at the doors that held the Captain's quarters. The three of them lived together; did they all love each other? She thought of the tender touch Captain Isabela had brushed across Merrill's cheek and knew. Of course they did. Isabela might be the Captain, but it was apparent from their behavior and that of their crew's that they were a team, united. In a way, married. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew that those three were bonded together with iron.

There was a slight shift in the ship, and Elya's hand flew out to steady against the wall. The stairs were too narrow, Cullen falling behind her as Merrill lead them down. The slight relieving of heat was welcome, although she could still feel his presence viscerally.

Merrill rocked with the ship naturally, plainly experienced. "We don't have guests normally, so we had to do some rearranging." She giggled, "Mister Christopher wasn't pleased to relinquish his cabin until we promised him he wouldn't have to deal with Dog duty for a whole month."

Elya nodded automatically to the chatter, but the ship shifted again, a little harder this time. Hot, sticky sweat bloomed over her and she swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she shivered. The ship was reaching for the open ocean, the wind becoming stranger, and with it so were the waves. There was a slight constant rocking now, discernable even with the size of their vessel.

She tried to breathe shallowly through her nose as they continued down the cramped corridor, but it was stuffed. Her cold had become worse. Her throat felt raw and tight with each sawing gasp. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the churning of her stomach. As if from a long distance away she heard Merrill say, "This is to be your cabin."

Elya opened her eyes to see a small, dark room mainly dominated by a bed set into the wall. A fixed table rested at the end, a chest against one wall, and a window made of round, thick glass looked out into inky blackness.

It was the same blackness that was flickering around her vision. She swallowed hard and stepped inside the room, light blooming from a lantern swinging from a hook. Not from a match, no, the elf had made the candle light with a look. The firm clamp Elya was keeping on herself didn't even allow for a flicker of reaction at seeing the casual way the other mage revealed herself. It was all too distant, too far away. Her lips parted as she gulped in lungfuls of stale air, her stays too tight to allow her the breaths she needed.

Merrill beamed at Elya, "I hope you and your husband will be very comfortable."

Husband. Married to Cullen. The room shifted again, and the blackness suddenly rushed towards her. She heard Cullen shouting her name as she crumpled.


	20. Chapter 20

"Elya!" Cullen lunged forward, catching her as she crumpled. He crouched down with her cradled against his arm, her head rolling against his shoulder. "Elya, Elya, wake up." Panic gripped him for a moment, pushing aside everything but his fear. Maker and Andraste, please don't…

The flickering light showed sweat across her brow, her pallor tinged an unhealthy shade beneath her normally gorgeous sienna complexion. The hint of honey was gone, replaced with a pale green. Her breathing was heavy and ragged, uneven as if she battled against a foe. The boat rocked and shifted, and Elya moaned through her open lips. Cullen sagged, a heavy breath leaving him dizzy as relief filled him, cleared some of the paralyzing cobwebs away.

Sick, she was sick. The sudden rush made him weak, but his mind was working again. She had been coming down with a cold; surely that is all this was. He prayed that it was not anything more sinister.

He slipped his arm beneath her knees, lifting her up so that he could place her on the bed. Once she was level, he brushed aside the damp tendrils clinging to her forehead, placing his palm across the smooth skin. Burning with fever. His chest constricted; Maker, he wished he could take this from her.

Elya twisted, groaning again, and Cullen smoothed his hand over her hair, working to take out the pins. He whispered down to her, his heart aching as he took in her contorted grimace. "Shh, love, you will be well, I promise." Her hair fell away as he tucked the pins into safe keeping, knowing that when she was better she would want to present herself in an orderly manner. Belatedly, he realized that the elf was still there, hovering in the doorway. "Merrill, yes? Can you bring me some warm water and cloth?" He turned back to Elya without waiting, knowing that she would obey his request.

Sure enough, Merrill squeaked out her answer and shut the door. Peripherally, he noticed her steps hurrying away, but he pushed it aside. Elya was still panting as if she couldn't catch her breath. He gritted his teeth and frowned, worried. Where her lungs compromised? That would be an unthinkable scenario; putrid lungs were not something care alone would cure.

A sudden flash of insight had Cullen groan; her stays. She couldn't get the deep breaths she needed while laced into her stays. He gulped, a strange mixture of ice and heat running through him. And since he was her 'husband', he would have to be the one to remove them.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, steeling himself for the task. This was nothing, he reminded himself. She had done the same for him; he could be clinical. Swallowing once, he opened his eyes and focused on the task of removing her gown. His mouth dry, Cullen gently rolled Elya onto her stomach, making sure to turn her head so she could breathe. The exposed laces running down the back of her gown beckoned, and he quickly made short work of them.

 _Professional, professional_ , Cullen chanted to himself, sliding his hands inside the loosened back of the gown to cup her shoulders. He pulled the fabric down just enough, revealing the thin straps of her chemise and the top of her stays… which did not lace down the back. Cullen swallowed hard again and rolled her back. He looked into Elya's face, making sure she was still unconscious before he grasped the sleeve of her gown and slowly slid it off her arm.

He knew it would, but he was still unprepared for when the dress moved with its sleeve, pulling down bit by bit, agonizingly revealing the ridge of her collarbone, the indent at the base of her throat. Her pulse pounded there, attesting to how hard her heart was beating. His was just as rapid; for a vastly different reason. Inch by inch, the velvety skin of her chest was revealed, his rapturous gaze blocked by the plain white cotton of her chemise, the hint of a cleft rising above it. With the feel of a man drowning, Cullen tugged that last little bit. The sleeve slipped off her hand, and so did the rest of the gown, exposing Elya to his greedy eyes. She wore full stays, the white garment holding her ribcage and cupping her still heaving breasts. Each gulping breath pushed her nipples against her chemise, the dusky brown just barely visible beneath the material and partially obscured by the more solid cloth of her stays.

Cullen pulled back, his hands shaking as he pressed them to his thighs. Oh, Maker, he was in trouble. He forced his eyes closed, but Elya was seared into his memory. When he returned to Orlais and left her behind, this image would haunt him. The white highlighted the russet of her skin, made her seem darker and richer. The barely-there press of her pearled tips called him like a siren's song. He knew he was not surviving this unscathed.

He opened his eyes in time to see Elya shiver, move slightly against the covers. Shame flooded him. She was sick; how could he be so lost to the fact that she needed him to help her, not to ogle her? Disgusted with himself, Cullen slipped the other sleeve off, fixing his gaze only on where his hands needed to work. Her dress around her hips, Cullen could now fully see the laces of her stays. From the waist to top, he quickly worked the tightened fabric, splitting it open. With a will he kept his eyes from roaming, kept himself as professional as he had tried to be before.

The stays parted, and Elya sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Cullen watched her face as he shifted her around to remove the loosened garments, anxiously noting that lips that were slightly chapped were more relaxed. Placing her clothes to the side, he worked the blankets from beneath her, tucking the warmth beneath her chin. In the quiet, he breathed together with her as she was finally able to catch up and watched her heartbeat slow.

The meditative process had the added benefit of cooling his blood, helping rid him of the erection he had tried to ignore. Even so… Cullen couldn't help himself from scooting closer so he could brush is fingers through her hair, smoothing the heavy strands across the pillow. He traced the straight line of her eyebrow, his finger trailing over to her ear and caressing the curve. Elya mumbled, moving her cheek into his hand, and Cullen kept still, his brows drawn as he stared with worry at his love.

A soft knock on the door made him start, and he remembered he had sent Merrill for water. Scarcely raising his voice, he called "Enter." He didn't move his hand.

Quietly, Merrill slipped into the room, a basin held in both hands and some cloth over her arm. She moved with the boats rocking, crossing to the table next to the bed and placing the basin along the seaworthy top. A lip ran around the edge, preventing the bowl from sliding around. "Warm water," Merrill whispered, then handed him a stack of towels, the rest of the cloth placed by their bags. "Towels and sheets. There's more if you need them."

Cullen mumbled out a thank you and slipped his hand from Elya's velvety cheek. He dipped a cloth into the water, rung it out, then gently started to wipe away the sweat collecting on her brow. He set himself to the task, blocking out everything except for caring for her the best he could. He was certain that she would have some sort of remedy for her cold within the herbal mixtures she carried, but he would wait till she was cognizant. Undoubtable the best thing for her would be sleep. They had had a rough couple days, and he was exhausted himself.

Merrill had stayed, he realized, silently watching over them. He looked at her, a question on his face, and she responded with quiet words. "She is lucky to have you. You love her very much."

He felt heat flood his cheeks, uncomfortable with the fact that someone else knew before Elya did. He thought of the way Elya had reacted to calling him friend, the precious status she bestowed on that title. He wanted to tell her, wanted to explain himself. Wanted her to know that he could be both, her best friend and lover. She seemed to like kissing him, a fact he had noted with frustrated elation, but she didn't seem to understand what he meant when he kissed her. He wasn't embarrassed to love her; she had proven herself to be more true and caring, even loving, than anyone else Cullen had ever met. She just deserved to know first.

Since she had saved him, Elya had proven her worth to him so many times. Yet somehow she didn't understand her importance. How lost he would be without her, in every sense of the word.

Cullen refreshed the cloth and smoothed it down Elya's neck. "No," he stated softly, "I'm lucky to have her."

He missed Merrill's grin, heard only, "When she wakens, anything you need can be found in the galley, just follow the corridor down. It will take you there." The door shut behind her as she left.

It was hours before she woke up. They had made it to the open sea, the ship rolling as they broke through waves. From previous experience Cullen knew that they were making little leeway; the wind was not strong enough for true speed. It would take them about a week to reach Ferelden at this pace. Yet he couldn't care, not even with the reminder of what was at stake. For the moment, he and Elya were safe, barring her cold turning to something worse.

His eyes were gritty and he couldn't stop yawning, tirelessly working to keep her temperature down, feeding her little sips of water. Her fever had built steadily, and she had moved restlessly beneath the covers, trying to kick the heat off. Cullen had patiently fixed the blankets, yawned through the quiet spells, and hummed to her.

He didn't know the foreign words to the one he hummed most frequently, but he remembered the tune from when Elya had sung it to him during his fever. It was calm and soft, a lullaby from her mother's homeland, from Rivain, he thought. When she was most restless, he sung her one from his own childhood, his mother's favorite. Elya always turned to him, listening even in her sleep.

When her fever broke, Cullen had sighed with relief, even as it soaked her chemise and the sheets. It had to be past midnight, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep himself awake. A few minutes later, Elya's dark lashes fluttered, blinking awake. Her rich brown eyes locked with his, and he smiled through his exhaustion. "How are you feeling?" He touched his palm to her forehead, feeling the cooler temperature. She wasn't out of the woods yet, he thought, but it was a good start.

Elya blinked and then frowned, swallowing dryly. "Thirsty," she finally whispered, her voice scratchy. She winced, a hand appearing from beneath the blanket to touch her throat.

"Here," Cullen slid up to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her sit up. She sighed gratefully, leaning against his chest as if the act of pushing herself up had been too difficult. He pressed the cup of lukewarm water into her hands, and watched her face as she carefully drained it. She sighed heavily, letting her hands collapse into her lap. Her head rolled against his shoulder, and she was half asleep again, her almost easy breathing feathering against his neck.

He wished he could just tuck her back into bed, but her chemise had to be uncomfortable sticking to her. Not that he was trying to notice, but he was only a man after all. He pulled the coverlet off the bed, wrapped it around Elya, and hoisted her into his arms. He didn't groan, but it was a close thing. He needed rest and food, but he wasn't going to worry about it for the moment.

With how small the cabin was, there really was no good place to sit Elya, so he propped her in the corner. She stirred, eyes only half opened as she watched him move to the bed and pull the sheets away. He looked back to her every few seconds, making sure she didn't fall over. She kept her eyes on him, blinking slowly and coughing slightly, but she didn't really seem to track what was going on around her.

As soon as the bed was made, Cullen went to her pack, pulling out the things she had brought with her. And made an uncomfortable discovery: there was not another chemise in her bag. Cullen sat back on his heels, his hands clenched tightly on his thighs. He didn't have another shirt, and the one he was wearing was filthy.

Slightly desperately he turned to Elya, "Love, do you have another chemise?" As if he had missed it somehow.

Elya frowned hard at the question, obviously having trouble processing the question. Slowly she shook her head, a death knell to the faint, frantic hope Cullen had thrown to the Maker.

It was late, almost everyone in bed or busy with their shift aboard the sailing vessel. When he had slipped out for a moment earlier to get water, there had been only one man in the galley. No doubt there were clean clothes somewhere if Cullen knew where to look, but he did not.

Very well… he could do what Elya needed, even if it left him in aching pain for the rest of the night. He breathed against the heat already curling in his gut, braced his hands on the floor and stood. Briskly he scooped Elya up and set her on the bed. The blanket fell away from her body, leaving her in the white chemise that clung to her breasts and hips.

Cullen gritted his teeth, then carefully enunciated, "Raise your arms, love." He couldn't help the endearment that seemed to slip out every time he spoke to her now. A small way to tell her what he was feeling; maybe it would help his cause later on.

Elya did, so trusting she didn't question what he was going to do. Tightening his resolve, Cullen gripped her chemise, and with one movement, pulled it over her head and onto the floor. This time he did groan, a guttural sound he bit off as he slammed his eyes closed. But he had seen all of her, had been hungry for her for days now and slackened by the sight, and yet in no way satisfied. Had it been only days? It felt like he had spent a lifetime waiting for her. Waiting to see the slope of her breasts, the curve of her waist, her belly button. The unknown little freckle that had rode low on one breast, another just below the other on her ribcage. The dark curl of hair between her thighs and the tautness of pearled nipples in the air.

Torture. And he wasn't done yet. He opened his eyes to see her frowning, not in anger, just in confusion. He almost chuckled, but the painful tightening of his trousers against a far too swift erection curbed his amusement. She was not afraid of him, was not fearful of what he would do; Maker he wished that was her true feelings and not one born of fever.

He had to touch her. It was a compulsion, driven by his need as well as the need to get her covered and out of sight so he could stop imagining all the things he wished he could do to her. No, today while she was sick, his touch would be minimal and impersonal. He slid one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back and lifted her. She burned him, his palms overloaded with the feel of her glorious skin, his body burning from the press of her hip. He cut of the strangled groan, quickly depositing her beneath the clean sheets, and with a regretful but relieved twitch, she was covered once more.

Of course he knew she was still naked beneath them. Cullen carefully controlled his breathing, keeping his hips below the lip of the bed, as he spread the comforter out again. He looked up at Elya only once, saw her eyes were closed, her mouth parted as she breathed evenly. Asleep already. Bracing his elbows on the bed and digging his palms into his eyes, he gulped in shaky lungful's. He had made it through. Sure, he was strung out, hard and throbbing, images and fantasies playing through his head and in no way getting sleep anytime soon, but he had made it through without disgracing himself.

A hand brushed against his cheek, jolting him from the carefully controlled clamp he had on his body. His eyes flew to Elya's, his hands automatically clasping around hers. "Thank you," she whispered raggedly, a faint smile on her lips.

"My pleasure," Cullen whispered, just as raggedly, the words springing to his lips before he realized what he was saying. He wished, Maker, oh how he wished. He pressed a kiss to her palm, loving the softness and the callouses she had earned. His voice was all gravel when he spoke against her skin, "Get some sleep."

She sighed and did just that.


	21. Chapter 21

A sound broke Cullen from his sleep, and he blearily opened his eyes. He blinked, the world rolling and jerking with him. He was staring up at a low ceiling, wood just like Elya's cottage, but it wasn't right. He yawned, lifting his arms above his head and stretched, his hand knocking into something. Frowning as he scrubbed at his too long whiskers, he tilted his head so he could see what he had run into. A small table with a basin on it. Then his eyes ran into the slobbering tongue of a Mabari splayed on his side, blissfully asleep. That's right; he had let the animal in at some point during the night while tending to-

Abruptly he sat up, his memory returning as another groan weakly sounded from the bed he had been sleeping next to. Elya. He tossed back the blanket he has wrapped himself in, shoving it aside with the second pillow he had snagged from the bed, and raised himself from the floor. He woke the dog, a strange snorting sound escaping from his nose as he jerked to a sitting position.

Elya was awake, but she had her eyes tightly shut, nose scrunched as she breathed heavily through her mouth. Concerned, Cullen sat down at her hip, brushing back strands of hair still damp from her fever. A quick touch told him though it was light, she was still suffering. "Love?" He asked gently, keeping things quiet for her, "How are you feeling?"

"Sick," her voice was barely audible, spoken through clenched teeth. "The movement-" Just then the ship made a pitching motion, tilting forward then back. Elya shot up, clamped a hand over her mouth, going even greener. She hunched into herself, and Cullen's hands shot to the almost empty bowl of water.

Just in time. Elya's shoulders jerked once more, and she grabbed the basin and threw up. His chest hurting, Cullen gently caught up the loose strands of her hair and pulled them back, keeping them out of her way. Her body curled into herself, tense and trembling, and she continued to heave. Little miserable sounds escaped with her panting between each bout, and she was soon emptied of all contents, dry heaves shuddering through her body. Tears leaked out of her clenched eye, goosebumps rising all over her exposed skin. He placed a hand on her back, her flesh clammy with the combined effects of fever and sickness, and softly rubbed in circles trying to sooth her. The Mabari came up and rested his head against Cullen's leg, his intelligent eyes sad and he whined softly. He didn't like to see her suffering either.

Elya finally stopped, and she sighed as she slumped back against her pillows. He could see she was still shaking, and he swiftly plucked the bowl from her lap and returned it to the table, then tucked the sheets back up around her bare shoulders. "Can I get you anything?" He knew his voice was rough with worry and helplessness and he dashed away the tears still staining her cheeks.

For a moment she only sniffed, her lashes dark against too pale cheeks. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and hazily opened her eyes. "Water?" She croaked, and he involuntarily swallowed at the broken sound. Of course.

"I will be but a moment. Rest," With one last brush of fingers, he stood and collected the bowl. A glance to the dog showed his eyes were still trained on Elya's face; Cullen gave him a praising pat and quickly left the room.

He emptied and rinsed the basin, keeping it with him as he rushed to the galley. Vaguely he noticed that it was barely bright outside, just after sunrise. How many hours had he slept? Two, three? It wasn't important right now.

The galley was filled with a half dozen sailors, all eating from bowls that appeared to be filled with oatmeal. He ignored their curious looks, heading to where the kitchen area sat against one wall. A barrel of water beckoned, and he filled up a large mug. He wished that he could bring her tea, something warm to ease her throat, but he wasn't going to waste time heating up the water.

Within five minutes, Cullen was back in the cabin, helping Elya rise so she could clean her mouth. The Mabari, Cullen really should give him a name, moved out of his way, leaning against a wall and looked morosely at Elya's face, quiet and worried. Once again, the hound showed remarkable intelligence, knew without Cullen having to say that Elya needed quiet and calm.

Tentatively Elya sipped, letting the water settle in her stomach. Cullen spoke into the quiet, "You said 'the movement' before. Seasick?" He took the empty cup from her and settled her back down on the bed. A small part of his mind registered that she was still naked, but he was too concerned for her to take much note of it. Good; he wasn't a complete bastard then.

Elya nodded weakly and sighed as the boat rolled again. But for at least the moment she did not have that green pallor. "Yes. I am a horrible sea traveler. Long carriage rides as well."

"Why didn't you tell me? Or that you were getting sick?" Did she not feel like she could tell him of her worries or troubles?

Her eyes rested lightly on his face, and she answered with a careless grace, "Because it was more important to get you safely out of Orlais."

"Oh." He blinked down at her, unable to speak, his chest swirling with mixed emotions. Grateful for her determination, exasperation that she hadn't shared with him, a hint of sadness, but mostly, mostly he was hopeful. Hopeful that she cared for him just as much as he cared for her. If she was so bent on keeping him safe, that meant something, did it not?

He desperately wished to kiss her then, the urge making his hands clench. He wanted to pour out his emotions into her, but it was not the time. Instead he bent and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Thank you Elya," he whispered against her fevered skin, wanting to convey more but didn't know how.

Her sigh was a soft caress against his neck, and he pulled back to see her smile slightly. He cleared his throat, still too blocked with words he couldn't say yet, and stood. "Would you like the window open?" Safe, back to what she needed, not him.

"Yes, that would be wonderful. Sometimes cool air helps." He nodded as he checked the conditions outside, making sure it was safe. Windy, as the boat's rocking could attest to, but not raining. It was the faint blue of early morning, the sun peeking through scattered grey clouds. He popped open the thick glass and the tangy scent of salt water rush inside, dissipating the staleness.

Cullen smothered a yawn with his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, picking up his bedding still twisted on the floor. Another night with the dog as his companion.

"Cullen, have you slept?" There was a hint in her voice, one he recognized immediately. His lips quirked as he heard both his mother and Mia in the chiding tone.

Bashfully, he shook his head, drinking in her annoyed frown even as she lay prone. "I was just about to, though. And you should as well. It will help you get over your seasickness." With that, he set the pillow down.

As he was about to lower herself to the floor, Elya's sharp tone brought him to a halt. "Nonsense." He jerked his head up to see her shifting in the bed, moving towards the cabin wall. "There is plenty of room here for you."

He froze for a half second. It was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea. She was still ill… she was still naked. He hadn't really been aware it earlier, but sleeping next to her… he would certainly be aware of that factor. He was moving before he noticed, leaning down to pick up the pillow.

In the empty spot she had created Cullen made sure the covers were fully up before taking his spot. He apparently couldn't resist the chance to lie next to her, but he wasn't risking slipping beneath the sheets. He spread the blanket over himself and settled back against the pillow, his body thanking him for the softness of the bed as opposed to the floor. And his nose thanked him for the elfroot scent of Elya instead of the wet Mabari who now wheezed out a sigh as he lay down, disappointed on missing out on the bed deal the humans had. The berth seemed to be made for two; the faint press of her arm and leg to his distinct even with the covers between them, yet not too close. He could hear Elya's breathing, deep and calm. She was asleep already, he thought. He crossed his arms over his chest, a rueful smile on his lips. He got into bed with her, and she fell asleep. He felt his own exhaustion pulling him down and surrendered to it, grateful for the distraction of unconsciousness.

* * *

The ship was still swaying and jolting through the waves, but it no longer made Elya feel like she was going to be sick. She had adjusted. Light filled the cabin; it was sometime during the day, the natural brightening not coming from a candle or lamp. She rolled over in the bed that had been her permanent companion for the past days, just now finally feeling well enough to be aware. Except, she couldn't fully turn to her side; something was weighing against her feet.

She pushed herself upright, wincing at how stiff and weak she felt, and frowned down to the end of the bed. Her eyes clashed with pitiful brown ones, the huge body of the Mabari taking up the whole width of the bed. His head remained pathetically down on his paws, his stump of a tail thumping hopefully against the blankets of the sheets.

The warm affectionate smile broke through before she was even aware and she was reaching down for him. Capturing his small sharp ears in her hands for scratches, she cooed, "Are you not supposed to be up here, boy? Did Cullen tell you no?" A giggle was rising in her throat at the mental picture of Cullen lecturing the dog while being looked at as she just had. The Mabari had that begging, sad look down. Cullen would have felt like a heel… but he had probably thought it was best for her. "Are you being a naughty puppy?"

The Mabari leaned into her hands, panting and barking lightly while listening to her. Elya swore she saw his playful grin. He knew he was getting away with things he was not supposed to, and she didn't care she was undermining Cullen's authority. Such a sweet animal deserved to be a little spoiled. She noticed that he had been washed, his coat now an umber brown with white spots flecking his back and in a solid swath over his chest. She shook her head; she would never have guessed white lay underneath all that dirt. He was a handsome lad, in a fierce way, but he needed help still. Too skinny and his teeth needed some serious attention or they would be beyond repair, and she suspected that he was still limping. Yet his trials had not made him mean, he had held onto his kindness.

Her stomach gurgled, the noise accompanied by a cramping sensation, surprising her. She was hungry. How long had it been since she had eaten anything? She pressed her lips together as she tried to recall specifics, but there were only little snippets of time, hazy memories. A couple days perhaps. She remembered Cullen sleeping next to her three times, remembered turning into his chest, his solidness helping keeping her grounded while the boat lifted and fell. She wished she could remember more of that, despite how awful she had felt.

Cullen had been amazing. He had helped cool her during all her fevers, had changed her bedding more than once. The nightgown she wearing was one he had found, thick and warm, helping her when she had shivered through bouts of attempted sleep. Every time she had been sick from the movement of the boat, he had been a calm presence, holding her hair back and getting rid of the mess. He had thoughtfully asked her about any medicines she had brought along, and she had described a fever reducer she had packed; she wouldn't have thought of it on her own, too sluggish and drifting. During all of it, he had never balked, never complained or made her feel like the burden she knew she was.

She smiled softly down at the twist of hair spilling over her shoulder; he had even tried to braid her hair, despite obviously not knowing how. Her fingers rose to touch the loose strands beneath a crooked bow. She felt… treasured, though he received nothing for helping her. Precious and protected.

Is that what being Cullen's wife was like?

Her gaze grew unfocused, fingers stilling at the thought. He was acting as her husband, so would this be how he treated his wife? With care and attention, selfless when she needed aid? Elya closed her eyes, trying to remember it all, but it was too distant, like dreams that faded with the morning.

There were a few things. Most distinctly, the warm press of his lips against her forehead each time she started to drift to sleep. Cullen's wife would receive those kisses. And others. Kisses like the one they had shared in her loft, like the one in the forest. Heat flooded her cheeks, a pulse radiating from her core. Cullen's wife could have those kisses any time she would like… any time he would like.

She would be a lucky woman, whoever she was.

The Mabari's nose jerked towards the door, his small ears swiveling as he heard something. He jumped off the bed, dashing over to a nest of blankets that had been arranged on the floor just as Elya heard footsteps coming to the door. The dog assumed his same relaxed pose, on his stomach with legs crossed before him, big head down.

The door swung open, and Cullen came through. His attention was caught by the Mabari, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked between the flattened blankets at the end of the bed and his resting spot on the floor. The war hound raised his head delicately, an innocent expression etched into each canine feature. Cullen didn't buy it, but he just shook his head and closed the door.

Nervous energy filled her chest, her heart fluttering and jumping strangely as she caught Cullen's profile. She traced her eyes over his tousled curls, the deep set of his eyes, the proud nose, and the faintly pink scar leading to those sensual lips. Her gaze lingered there, those feelings growing stronger, warmer. She licked her own lips, mouth suddenly too dry.

Cullen turned and saw her sitting up in bed. His concerned gaze ran over her quickly, hurrying a few steps to her until his gaze reached her face. He faltered and stopped, his own lips parting on an inhale. Her core grew warmer, that pulsing sensation returning. She had felt this before, when he had licked inside her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers. Pressed against his body, tasting her first kiss of desire and intimacy. It had been wondrous, and not enough. She knew there was more to it than that; she was not the sheltered innocent she had been years ago. Cullen's wife would know the completion of that kiss. Would it be as shattering as she thought it would be?

Cullen's mouth snapped shut, his jaw flexing as he cleared his throat. It snapped her out of her trance, once again bringing heat to her face, but it didn't dissipate the rest of it lingering in her body. "You're awake," Cullen said, his voice slightly rough. He slowly crossed to the side of the bed, and Elya rotated to keep facing him. "Are you feeling better now? Can I get you anything?"

This man, his concern and sweetness; she was going to break. Her lips parted, air tight in her lungs to speak, ask, demand…

Her stomach gurgled, cutting off her words. Amusement sprang into his eyes, his lips curling. A little laugh escaped her lips, and the powerful moment drifted away. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or relieved and she wasn't going to think about it right now. There would be time later. "I could use some food. Then, if I can, maybe a walk around the deck."

Cullen smiled charmingly, a lifting of the right side of his lips into a lopsided grin. "That sounds like an excellent plan." He held out his hand for her, and she twined her fingers with his, accepting his help to slide from the bed and finally stand on her own feet again. "I'm glad you are feeling better."

"Oh, me too," she said fervently, stabilizing herself against the table when the boat rolled, so glad she didn't feel the need to use the basin.

Cullen laughed and gently tugged on her untidy braid. "Why don't you get dressed, and I will get you some food."

At the word food, the Mabari sprung to his feet and dashed out the door, barking in excitement. Elya and Cullen just looked at each other, and burst into laughter. Cullen shook his head as he shut the door, leaving Elya feeling happier than she had in several long days.


	22. Chapter 22

Despite her hunger, Elya ate slowly, cautious of how she would handle the food with the rolling motions of the boat. The stew was flavorful and full of chunks of potato, carrots, and chicken. The bread was fresh and crusty, and it was all delicious. It was good to know that they would not be reduced to poor rations while on this trip.

What captured more of her attention, though, was the sly way Cullen kept slipping chunks of his bread and meat to the dog staring up at him piteously. She pressed her lips together to keep her smile off her face, taking another sip of her broth. Perhaps Cullen thought he was being subtle, but he would have had better luck if he were hiding it under the table. The Mabari was going to be spoiled very quickly with the two of them behaving as they had been.

Elya spoke, her voice still raspy and nasally, "How have things been while I was asleep? No danger?"

Cullen shook his head, idly tearing another chunk of bread away, "No, you found us an excellent route. Captain Isabela and her crew, while a little scruffy around the edges, have been reliable." He rolled his shoulders, 'dropping' the piece of bread to the floor where the Mabari scarfed it down immediately. "I have even been getting some sword practice in against Hawke. She is a powerful fighter."

Concern bloomed in her chest, and she turned on her seat on the bed, looking worriedly in the direction of his hip. "Your injury, it is…"

Cullen reached out and squeezed her shoulder, drawing her eyes up to his. Calm warmth shone through the honey color, no hiding the truth. "I am well. I am taking it slowly with her, but your handiwork has made the cut all but a scar now. And I am still putting the cream you made me on it."

She felt her fear fade, but a little remained. She frowned and looked down again. "Well, as long as you are…" Abruptly his clothing registered for her. He was wearing a white, long sleeve shirt and black trousers. A new outfit. She gasped, "You shirt! Where is it? Is the," she dropped her voice and leaned closer, "the list? Is it safe?"

He chuckled slightly, then patted the bed. "Don't worry, love. It's safe. Hidden beneath us as we speak. I slipped my shirt under the mattress while changing sheets." She sighed, relief draining her tension. They were not compromised, and the secret was safe.

She finished the rest of her food shortly after that, not needing much to feel full. Within moments Cullen had given the rest of the food he had been nibbling to the Mabari, and whisked away her dishes. Elya stood, bracing one hand against the wall as she tried to accustom herself to the rolling of the ship. Although it no longer made her sick, she still didn't have her 'sea legs', as they said. Her borrowed dress was a little short, a pretty dark green with puffed sleeves and a round neckline that was easy to put on by herself. If she had to guess, she would suppose it was Merrill's, and almost never worn. The three ladies had all been wearing breeches when she had come aboard, practical fashion for their vocation, although Elya wasn't brave enough to request similar garments.

"Are you ready?" Cullen asked from the doorway, handsome features alight and carefree. He had a jacket on now, one held out for her. She nodded, accepting his help to place the heavy weight over her shoulders. She felt a lightness lifting her own spirits; for the first time, Cullen looked relaxed. The lines of pain and worry were smoothed away, his hair tousled, his limp all but gone. He just looked brighter; perhaps spending time in the fresh air and sunlight had worked their magic on him. He was confident they were safe here; otherwise he would be much more wary than he was now. As she ascended the stairs, keeping one hand on the wall, she couldn't help but feel optimistic about the rest of their journey. Surely the worst was behind them now.

They reached the upper landing, and this time the doors to the Captain's quarters were open. Curious, Elya peeked inside. It was much larger than the room she and Cullen had, but it was also dominated by a large bed, set against a bay of windows that stretched the width of the stern. A large table with a clutter of maps and books sat stood to the left, a row of bookshelves full of more books and expensive treasures stood behind it. Clothing spilled from a closet, the remains of food on another table, a scattering of plush carpets all over the wooden floor, all made it look homey and comforting. Well… there were weapons on racks against one wall; swords, shields, daggers, staves. Almost all of the room looked comfortable.

The Mabari pushed his way past her legs, standing and whining at the door to the outside. "Shall we?" Cullen held out his arm, a lopsided smile on his lips. She nodded and took his arm, and Cullen opened the door. A cool swirl of salt water brushed over her and the Mabari dashed out of the door, barking excitedly. They followed at a more serene pace; stopping just outside so Elya could adjust to the brightness of day.

She heard a terrible racket, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and peered in confusion at the noise. "Oh!" She gasped, stunned, as she saw their Mabari chasing after another slightly larger brown Mabari. They reached the end of the deck, and they both scrambled as they turned, their feet clattering and thudding as now it was their pup's turn to be chased. The other dog tackled him, and they went down in a pile of wiggling legs, snapping teeth, and sharp barks.

"That is Dog," Cullen informed her in a deadpan voice. "He is Hawke's. And they do this every day, for hours. I'm amazed we can't hear them in our cabin." Elya blinked in awe, looking up at the amusement lurking beneath his calm façade. She had known that there was another dog onboard, but she had been distracted and hadn't thought about it since. But she would have never guessed another Mabari…

Captain Isabela and Hawke were at the helm, and Cullen nodded to the two of them as he slowly started their stroll. Elya smiled at their open gazes, clutching tight to Cullen's sturdy arm as the ship pitched. He had his sea legs, and she pressed closer to him, grateful for his stableness. "The sailors are actually glad for our pup," Cullen continued. "Apparently, Dog's favorite pastime is finding ways to steal their shoes and then gnaw them until they are unrecognizable." Another series of sharp barks emanated for them pile of two dogs, and then they were off again, careening around the ship. She shook her head in amazement, watching them with parted lips.

The fresh air and sunshine did wonders to her as well, and she felt stronger as they continued their slow way around the bustling deck. There were a few puffy white clouds in the sky; the sea was as calm as could be expected while away from the shore. All around them was the empty expanse of water, no land or other ships on the horizon. Elya sighed, the wind brisk but she was warm with her jacket and Cullen at her side.

Their easy conversation was filled with the dogs' antics, laughing as the two dogs wore each other out with their enthusiasm. She felt the stiffness of staying in bed for two days leaving her, pleased that the minimal exercise was helping.

They made a circuit to where their hosts were standing, the Captain maintaining easy control over the wheel. Hawke smiled as they came up, "Good to see you up and about. Are you feeling better?" Her voice was pleasant, Ferelden, Elya thought.

"Yes," She answered the friendly manner, feeling at ease with these women. "I still sound awful, but I don't feel too bad anymore." Perhaps a little tired still, but she would rather be here than in the bed.

"Perfect. Your husband here was not the best of sparring partners while you were sick. He couldn't concentrate, too distracted. Worried over his lady love!" She teased, winking to Elya.

She felt herself flush, felt Cullen stiffen slightly. Her heart jumped, then fluttered. Shyly she peeked up at Cullen from beneath her eyelashes. He was blushing. His face red and flustered. Elya's stomach knotted, her heartbeat starting to race. He had been worried about her?

"So, what do you say now Cullen? Want another go now that your wife is feeling better?"

He cleared his throat and darted a glance down to Elya. She looked away quickly, trying to regain her calm. "No, thank you. I'm escorting Elya right now. How about tomorrow?"

A different sort of warmth rose in her, shattering her attempts to replace her mask. "Oh, it's okay, if you would like to go, please. I will just stay here with the Captain." She didn't necessarily want him to leave her, but she needed a moment. Cullen frowned down at her, and she pasted an encouraging smile on her face. "Go." She urged gently. "I will be right here."

He nodded. "Very well." He gave her hand a squeeze as he unlinked their arms. "If you need anything, just let me know." This time, her smile was natural, soft; he took such good care of her.

The two walked away, Cullen glancing back as he picked up a practice sword and shield, his eyes still holding a hint of concern for her. She lifted her hand in a wave, then shooed him on. Hawke settled in across from him, and they slowly started some sort of routine.

"You are a lucky woman," Isabela stated in Rivain. "I think the only reason he would leave your side was because he knew you needed your rest, and he needed to swing a sword as a stress reliever." The Captain gave her a knowing grin. "He really does love you very much."

Elya blushed harder, enough that the other woman could see the pink in her cheeks. Cullen love her… She looked to the man pretending to be her husband, the way he concentrated on his fight. His jacket had been discarded, his shoulders bunched tight as he brought his sword down against Hawke's shield. She remembered the careful way he had held her, the gentleness he had lavished on her. The words sprang unbidden to her lips, soft and full of feeling. "He is the most incredible man I have ever known."

The knowing smile deepened on Isabela's face. "I can see that." She whistled appreciatively. "I bet he is a fantastic lover!"

The sudden rush heat and memory filled Elya. Being kissed by Cullen had been life altering. She blushed again, suddenly filled with a strange mix of yearning and excitement. He would be a wonderful lover, wouldn't he? His passion she could attest to, his care for her wellbeing let her know that he would be considerate in all ways. She swallowed hard, dazed, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him again. Or to curl her fingers in his silken hair, or against his bare chest.

A low laugh broke her from her reverie, and she realized she had been staring at Cullen, her lips parted, her breathing slightly elevated. "You two must be newlyweds."

"Yes," Elya pulled herself together, trying to keep their secret. "Yes, we were married quite recently."

Isabela chuckled, "Oh yes, I remember the feeling. And my girls and I are still there. It is wonderful, isn't it?"

Elya nodded her head. It was true; being with Cullen was an amazing feeling. But she needed to focus the Captain on a different topic. "Where did you, Hawke, and Merrill meet?" It felt forced, but the broad smile that lifted Isabela's lips told her she had been successful in her diversion.

"We met in Kirkwall. Blighted city though it is, I have to be grateful for its role in bringing the three of us together." Isabela kept talking, but the mention of Kirkwall had been like a punch to Elya's gut. The past rose strongly; her mother and father, both gone because of the events that had happened there. She shook her head, forcing herself to push it away. The past affected her still, but while she was here on this ship, she was only Cullen's wife. Not the daughter of…

Merrill joined them suddenly, slipping her arm around Isabela's waist and standing on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. The affection was casual, expected, and it sent envy twisting through Elya. It looked so easy.

"Elya," Merrill cried in excitement. "It's so good to see you are feeling better!"

"Yes," she responded just as warmly, "Yes, I am feeling much better, thank you." There was something so charming about Merrill; she couldn't stay wary with that bright smile beaming at her.

Just then the dogs tore past them panting happily, and Merrill shook her head. "I was worried when Cole told me you had a Mabari with you, but they were instant friends. It is so nice when everyone gets along."

"Cole?" Elya gasped, her suspicions confirmed but still a surprise. "You spoke to Cole?"

Large green eyes blinked, "Of course. He came to me just before Isabela came back after meeting with you. He is a good boy, isn't he? So nice and helpful. But of course, a spirit of Compassion would be." Elya just nodded, still shocked. She wasn't surprised or scared at the fact that Cole was a spirit.

"Oh!" Merrill rose up and down on her toes, "I know! You and Cullen should join us for dinner! Now that you can eat again. It would be fun!"

Isabela laughed, a smug smile tilting her lips. "They probably would rather have their privacy, Merrill. Isn't that right Elya?"

The way she spoke, the suggestive tone, made Elya blush once again. "I am sure Cullen and I would love to join you. Thank you for the invitation."

"Hmmm, I am thinking your husband might wish us all to the Fade by the end of the night." Isabela purred again, teasing her. She wasn't a fool, she knew what Isabela was implying, and it made her mouth go dry, suddenly picturing it.

"Stop teasing," Merrill scolded, mock harshly. She wrinkled her nose up at Isabela then leaned around her to speak to Elya. "We will have dinner in our cabin at seven, yes?"

And so it was set. She breathed easier as the topic changed to one that was simpler: favorite foods and drinks. She spent a pleasant time laughing and talking with the two as their conversation flowed naturally, carefully watching Cullen and Hawke spar. At first she was worried he was pushing himself too hard, but it quickly became apparent that he had been telling her the truth. He was better. He was being careful, and he didn't even look as if he had been injured at all. After realizing that, she had no excuse for how often she looked at him. She just couldn't stop herself from watching the fluid way he moved, his handsome face set into lines of concentration and determination. She knew little of fighting, but she could tell that he was good. He radiated confidence, something she found… very attractive. She kept thinking of how he had kissed her; all that concentration had been turned on her.

More than once their eyes caught, and he would look concerned, wordlessly asking if she needed anything. She would smile, and then he would to, giving her a little nod. Each time it happened, her chest felt both too large and too tight, warm from her toes to her head.

 _He loves you very much._

She found she had a very good time with the girls, laughing and easily conversing. It was fun to speak so easily, not having to worry about them condemning her for being different. Merrill was open about her magical abilities; Isabela was from the same country she had been born in. Her and Cullen's history was not really touched upon, so she didn't have to scramble to think up an appropriate reply. And when Hawke and Cullen finished their exercises, the five of them retired to the Captain's cabin for dinner.

She sat next to Cullen, cramped around the small table, yet she didn't feel crowded. Occasionally his thigh would brush hers, his arm press against her side. Each time, she couldn't help but focus on it, very aware of the physical sensations. It was exhilarating, made her heart pound and distracted her from whatever was being said.

She was learning so much about Cullen tonight. Isabela had an assortment of stories and dirty jokes, and Cullen would sometimes laugh with this little snort. Elya found them funny; every time Cullen laughed like that it would set her off into peals of laughter, which would then make the others laugh even harder. Elya caught his gaze often, warm as amber and soft as honey.

As the last bit of dinner, figs and little sweetmeats, were passed around, it suddenly occurred to her that this dinner had been with friends. That the hours she had spent out of her cabin with these three women had been spent in friendship. She looked carefully at them, easily sharing their table with her. They were happy and fun, sharing their comradery with her with no reservations, watching for a slip in etiquette or manners. They wouldn't judge or bar her for a trivial matter. She knew that she could trust them, knew that they would protect her is she needed help.

A sheen of tears made her blink rapidly, had her pressing her lips together tightly. Instantly Cullen's arm was around her shoulder, his voice low and for her ears only. "Are you okay?"

Elya lifted her eyes, staring at the worried look on his face, the furrow of his brown and lines wrinkled in his concern. It was different with him, she realized as she looked at him. It was… more. What she felt for Cullen was expounded and deeper, stronger. She… she needed to think. She smiled tremulously, sniffing away the tears and nodded to him. "Yes. Yes, I am fine. Just a little tired. I think I need to sleep."

She stood and made her goodbye's, thanking them for dinner, Cullen standing with her. Around her plans for tomorrow were being made, but she couldn't concentrate on them. Her heart was racing; she stood on the precipice of something... and if she were being honest with herself, she knew what.

Minutes later she and Cullen were in their cabin. She flicked her fingers at the lantern, the night having descended while they were at dinner. The flickering light made the room close, intimate, and she passed to where her bag was, looking through it more as a distraction than because she needed something. She couldn't look at Cullen, she couldn't breathe.

She heard him, heard him pause and then clear his throat. "I'll just go get you some water. You should change and get some sleep." His voice was low, soothing. She nodded; keeping her eyes averted and clutched her nightgown.

The door shut, and she stayed motionless for a long time, lost in her thoughts. Cullen was more than a friend.

To her, he was more. She was shaking, almost shivering as memories, emotions, crashed through her. Breaking through the fear that had bound her since she had seen the look on her mother's face. More than a friend meant…

She stood in a rush, changing quickly. She had a question she needed to ask him. Just one. And he wouldn't return until she was changed.

Her heart thudded uncomfortably, her mouth so dry she wasn't sure she would be able to ask him. Or if she would be able to summon the courage. She climbed into bed, slid beneath the sheets, and faced the wall.

Agonizing minutes passed before she heard him, his footfalls reaching the door. He came in and set something on the table; water, she presumed. Cullen blew the light out, and she was acutely aware of cloth rustling, of him changing. She barely breathed, and for a long moment he made no sound at all, standing still in the darkness. Then a deep, slow sigh filled the darkness of the room, and his heavy weight sank next to her on the bed.

She could feel him there, even though they were not touching. She knew exactly how he lay, on his back, knew that he was on top of the sheets. Her stomach was rolling, not in sickness this time, but with nerves. She was dizzy, belatedly realizing she had not been breathing. She sucked in a breath, heard Cullen's pause for a moment.

Was he as aware of her as she was of him?

It gave her the courage she needed. Taking a steadying gulp, Elya turned over and faced him, staring hard into the darkness where she knew his head rested on the pillow. She felt him pause, unmoving. "Cullen," her voice was just above a whisper, a tone she didn't recognize as one she had ever used. "Will you kiss me?"

He jerked, sucking in a breath. The tension between them skyrocketed, and her heartbeat was so loud she was sure he would be able to hear how hard it was racing. The silence stretched between them, and some small part of Elya wondered that she wasn't discouraged by his response. Instead she felt… emboldened. She needed to know. "Cullen? Won't you kiss me?"

She felt the bed shudder, the tension thrumming between them so strongly she felt as if she were touching him. "No," was Cullen's strangled reply.

Elya pushed just a little closer to him. "Why?" She asked softly, curiously.

He groaned, the sound muted and thrilling. His breathing was now harsh, filling the silence. She thought he wouldn't say anything, but then his wonderful voice filled the air. "Because I love you so much I don't think I could stop. If I kissed you, it wouldn't be just once. I want you too much Elya. I have wanted you for what has felt like the first time I laid eyes on you, asleep on the floor next to me, exhausted from saving my life." He shuddered again, and she wasn't breathing, too stunned. "So no. I won't kiss you."

He loved her. Elya soared, unbelieving. So unbelievably happy. He was just as tense as before, waiting for her to say something. And she could tell that he expected the worst.

She pushed herself up, reached over, and planted her lips on his. He jerked, a gasp brushing her lips, shocked. She moved her lips over his gently, the sensations stunning with his confession.

"Elya," he groaned and the next instant his hands were in her hair, and he flipped them, Elya splayed on her back with Cullen stretched over her body, his mouth plundering hers. Elation filled her as she kissed him back, twining her tongue with his, panting and arching into his body. Her hands curled around his torso, bare hot skin a revelation beneath her roaming hands. There was too much cloth trapped between them, but she could feel his desperation in the way he curled into her. She felt his muscles shift beneath her hands, his tongue twined with hers, and she groaned, surrendering to him fully.

He pulled back from her lips sharply, shaking his head. She felt the brush of his tangled curls against her face. He was shaking, so was she. But he had somehow reigned himself in. The disappointed, needy sound that escaped her should have been embarrassing, but she didn't care. Cullen's own breath hitched in response, and he brushed a soft kiss across her lips, her cheek, down the bump of her nose, the line of her eyebrow. "Elya," he kissed one corner of her mouth, "my love," he kissed just beneath her jawline, and she was utterly enthralled by the sensations, by the throbbing emotions she could hear calling to her in his voice.

He kissed her lips, hovering just above, his breath feathering over her. "Marry me."


	23. Chapter 23

In the dark, Cullen couldn't see her, but his other senses were heightened. Once again he ignored the demands of his body, focusing on Elya. He could feel her warmth, could hear the sharp inhale of surprise. Her hands against his bare skin tightened on him, pulling him slightly closer, and he heard her whisper, "Oh, Cullen."

He couldn't believe he had asked her, yet at the same time he couldn't believe it had taken him this long either. He loved her, had for a long while, yet he hadn't let himself think on it. There had been too much danger to her, their lives too much at risk, for him to be distracted over Elya's gentle ways and her simple beauty. So he had pushed it away as best as possible. Now that they were here, on this boat with no enemies around, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Sleeping next to her, taking care of her as she had taken care of him. It was as if his daydreams of love and home, laughter and happiness, had all the sudden become reality, and he wasn't going to waste a minute of it.

Then she had asked him to kiss her. And he realized that she just might feel the same way.

Elya tensed, her hands curling into fists and dropping away. She shuddered, her breath coming out in a shaking exhale, and she choked out "Cullen, I… I can't." A line of wetness rolled against the thumb gently cupping her cheek; he could hear her pain and sadness in her simple words.

He gently brushed away her tear, wishing that it was light enough he could see her face, but he wasn't going to move from her. "Why?" He softly mimicked her question, unhurt. Her rejection should have been a punch to his gut, and his heart did ache, but it wasn't because of that. He had heard her awe and joy with her first whisper. That had been real, true and unguarded. Yet she wouldn't accept him; there had to be a reason.

Elya stayed frozen for a moment, her breathing harsh but controlled. She was trying to hide her emotions, slip behind her composed mask once more, even as he was still pressed along her body. "I just… can't." Still strangled, still sounding as if she were suppressing her agony. He kept silent, hoping she would elaborate. "Please, Cullen," desperation threaded into her voice, and her hands returned to his torso, pressure as she tried to impart her words, "believe me. You wouldn't want me to be your wife. I could be your mistress. I will stay with you, for however long you want me, but I will not marry you."

Cullen pushed up to sit, and he heard her muffled sob. But he didn't move away, instead pulling her up so that she was sitting as well. He grasped her shoulders firmly, moving around so that they were facing each other. "Elya, could you please light the lantern?"

It had not been what she was expecting, and it took her a long moment to finally speak. "Why do you want me to?"

A small smile touched his lips, and he smoothed his hands up her arms, "Because when the woman I love sounds like she is in agony over refusing to marry me, I need to know the reason why." Elya quietly moaned, "And I need to see her face, need her to see me too."

She was so tense she was trembling. His chest ached, but Cullen needed for her to take these steps. He suspected that this had something to do with the past she kept so secret. He couldn't force her to trust him, couldn't force her to tell him everything, but he hoped she would realize that he was there for her.

He heard her swallow, hard, and then the light flared. A surge of strong love rushed through him, made a smile lift his lips. _My brave girl._ Elya's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her back ramrod straight. She was staring down intently, as if she could not look at him and get through this. There was such devastation stamped over her features, her lips tight and wane, her brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears and pain. She expected the worst, he realized, but she was still revealing herself to him.

He reached out and covered her hands, brushing soothingly against her whitened knuckles. "Now, won't you tell me why you won't marry me?"

Elya looked as if she were headed to sacrifice, dressed in her white nightgown, her hair in a partially undone braid from his fingers, that look of devastated acceptance on her face. She took an unsteady breath and said, "I am Elya Trevelyan. My father was Ambassador Trevelyan." She stopped, no elaboration, but she didn't need to explain more.

Shock jerked him, his hands instinctively tightening over hers. "Oh." He said, mind racing. It explained much. Ambassador Trevelyan. The man, who along with Anders, blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and started the brief but definitive war with the Mages.

His mind raced, the implications running through his mind. Elya started speaking again, slowly, and then building into a steady stream. "I was seventeen when my parents and I went to Denerim. I was to make my Come Out with the sponsorship of my uncle, Bann Trevelyan. We were all together for a while, getting ready for the Season, but it didn't last." Her voice was detached, emotionless. As if she was reciting from a book instead of from her life. "My mother was a great Mage, a Seer from Rivain. In that country, Mages were handled differently. Circles were places to study, not permanent homes; Mages weren't feared as they were elsewhere and given much more independence. Because of this, she was a great fighter for Mage rights elsewhere.

"When things became worse in Kirkwall, she couldn't stand the injustice of it all. She wanted to go to Kirkwall, to try to help fight for Mage rights, but my father convinced her otherwise. As an official Ambassador to Kirkwall, he would go and do what he could, and my mother would stay with me. It was my first season, all my years dedicated to those few short months. I was to make a good match; no scandal was to be brought to my chances. She and my father were deeply in love, they had done everything together for years, and she hated to be left behind.

"But she stayed, because of me. And we waited. I made my Come Out, bowed to the King and Queen, spent my time at balls and parties. Weeks passed, and we heard nothing from my father. Not one note. And all the while we heard of the deepening conflicts, the atrocities that were being committed. My mother grew more agitated, more sure than ever that she needed to go to Kirkwall and my father, yet I continued to need her with me.

"Then, the worst happened. The Chantry was destroyed," For the first time Cullen heard her waver, her breath catching tight. "And everyone was saying that my father did it. That he helped Anders and murdered countless people, and died in the fighting he had started. I couldn't believe it. Still don't believe it. And suddenly, everyone turned on us. Friends from the day before now openly insulted us, snubbed us. Ostwick condemned by father, revoked the favors they had bestowed upon my family as Ambassadors. We became pariahs, stranded in a country not our own."

Elya paused, blinking sharply and she whispered, "My mother instantly left for Kirkwall, leaving me with my uncle. And the look she gave me," tears leaked from her eyes. "She resented me. She looked at me only once before she left, didn't even glance back as she departed on the ship. My own mother hated me, at the end." Cullen couldn't speak, couldn't move, frozen at the horror.

She sniffed, and pushed through it. "She disappeared as soon as she reached the Free Marches, presumed killed in the war. My uncle said I could stay with him, but I saw what it was doing to him. He has three daughters, the eldest cousin was making her Come Out at the same time; the scandal I was bringing to them was ruining all their chances. He would never have asked me to leave, but I knew. So… I left. For two years I tried to find some place, but my last name gave me away. So I stopped using it, and went to Orlais, and stayed away from people as much as I could."

A short, sharp sound, a mockery of a laugh, burst from her. "So, there is the reason I won't marry you. My past would make you a laughing stock, would banish you from your peers. Not only am I the daughter of a murderer, I am also turned my back on my 'class' and lived as a lowly farmer. The local witch." She shook her head and closed her downcast eyes hard, an exhausted sigh escaping her. In a tiny voice she murmured, "Now you know the truth. It is okay, Cullen. We can pretend that tonight didn't happen. We can go back to being friends."

"Maker's breath," the air he had been holding since she had revealed her last name exploded from him. "Is that what you think I want?"

Elya's head dropped lower, and her posture crumpled, her shoulders curling into herself. "Oh," she tugged at her hands, trying to dislodge his own, "I see. I will just... leave. I am sure there are other places I can…" Her tears spilled over, and she pressed her lips together as she started to cry.

"Elya," his heart breaking for her pain, Cullen wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. She fell apart, sobbing as he held her close and tried to help. Her tears dampened his shoulder and she accepted his support even as she thought he had tried to break all ties with her.

He rested his cheek against her hair, smoothing his hand up and down her back in slow, steady sweeps. Her story explained so much. It had been some time since he had decided that she was a lady; her mannerisms gave her away, too well ingrained from her childhood. This explained how someone in the upper echelons of society was to be found in the Orlesian countryside, earning her own way. About how she had been so excited to have a friend; she had kept away from people on purpose, afraid they would learn her secret.

Even her avoidance of love… Cullen couldn't imagine the pain she must have felt at her mother's change of attitude. He didn't know if her mother had truly hated her own daughter at the end, but that is what Elya had thought and agonized over, so that's what mattered. Is that what Elya thought she deserved? That she only merited a secondary position in anyone's life? A mistress, not a wife. A friend, not a lover. A burden, not a daughter. He tightened his arms more, his heartache increasing.

She continued to weep, whole body wracked with the pain of it, and Cullen kept up the gentle comfort. He stayed quiet, letting her cry away her sadness and loneliness. When had she last let herself feel these emotions, the last time she had let go? He suspected it had been years, so he stayed a rock that she could hold onto during the storm.

It was some time before the tears slowed and stopped, leaving only her sniffling behind. She stayed still in his arms, as if she didn't want to move away from him. And as he didn't want to let her go, he was fine with the arrangement. She finally sighed heavily and pulled away from his chest, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Excuse me," she apologized in mock serenity. "I did not mean to… Thank you. I will just…" She went to move off his lap, but Cullen kept his arms around her hips, holding her in place. Her expression flickered, confusion on her face, "Cullen?"

He lifted her chin, and she finally, finally met his eyes. They were still glossy, the color deepened to almost black with her resigned despair. The normal honey color beneath her brown skin was now pink, slightly blotchy and her eyelashes spiked with moisture. She had never looked so precious. "My love," his voice was rough, not unaffected by the horrors and trials she had faced and gone through alone. "You are the bravest, strongest person I know. It would be an honor to stand beside you." Surprise slowly widened her eyes, tears threatened once again. He smiled tenderly, "I love you still, and I would proud to be your husband."

"But… but you know everything! You would be shunned!" She was incredulous, shaking her head slowly. "You would be crazy to want that."

His smiled deepened. "Yes, I am. Crazy for you." This ridiculous statement sent a very brief flit of laughter over her lips, and Cullen's heart rose.

"But what about your military position? Your superiors will question your judgment, your loyalty." She softened slightly, turning a little more to him.

He shrugged. "I answer only to the Commander. And as she was subject to a scandal not of her own making, trials no one should endure, I think she would not punish me for falling in love with you. Knowing her, she would become a champion for you as well. And if not, well then, hang the lot of them. I have wanted to retire for some time now." He looped his arms around her waist, closing some of the distance she had created.

Elya softened more, her hands creeping up to rest against his chest, and he suppressed the shiver at the feel of her hands against his skin. "What of your family?" Hope warred with hesitation. She wanted to give in, and he was determined to put all her fears to rest.

"Rosalie will paint you the romantic heroine, of which I wholeheartedly agree." Elya's smile returned again, staying a little longer this time. "Mia will mother and fuss of you so incessantly, you will be begging me to make her go away. Believe me, I always feel that way." This startled a little laugh out of her, and he twinkled, spirit soaring. "And Branson..." Cullen felt his spirits crash, a grumpy frown replacing his smile. "Maker's breath, Branson will flirt with you so much that it will drive me jealous." He had been bit by that one once already but it had, thankfully, ended with them here. No man could spend time in Elya's presence and not be moved by her. The thought was not a pleasant one, and he ground his teeth together, thinking of all his brother was going to put him through.

Elya laughed again, this time letting it ring out, and she melted that last little bit, Cullen clasping her close. He searched her eyes, looking for traces of sadness, hesitation. Instead he just saw happiness and, dare he hope, love? "You really don't mind?" She asked tentatively.

"Mind being bound to you? Seeing you every day, kissing you whenever I feel like?" He kissed her forehead, making a point. "I won't mind gossip or the stupidity of some people. You, Elya, are a true Diamond, worth more than any one of those Society idiots. So say you will marry me," Cullen breathed, "Nothing would make me happier than to be with you for the rest of my life."

"Oh, Cullen," a trembling smile rose to her beautiful lips, her eyes shining with stars and a different type of tears. "You really are the most wonderful man. Yes. Yes, I will marry you."

Elation soared through him, joy pulsing through his veins, his heart. He crowed out, and swooped down to kiss her. Elya quickly brought up her hand, pressing her fingers against his lips and forestalling him. He halted, pressing a kiss her fingers instead, silently watching her as she struggled with something. She licked her lips then said, "I love you Cullen." He felt himself melt this time, dissolving as she struggled through something that was obviously hard for her to say, yet was resolute to do so anyways. "I… I realized it today. I thought what I was feeling for you was just friendship, but spending time with Isabela, Hawke, and Merrill… I realized that you were more. That is why I wanted to kiss you, to see if I was more for you too."

Cullen reached up entwined his fingers with hers, lowering her hand to press against his heart. "You have been more for me for some time." He kissed her, closing his eyes to feel the softness of her lips, the twisting of his heart as she so sweetly sighed and kissed him back. He filled the gentle kiss with love, keeping it light and full of only their feelings. They had time for desire later, although hopefully not too much later.

He pulled away with a sigh, pressing his lips to her brow. "Tomorrow."

Elya tucked beneath his chin and then dreamily asked, "Tomorrow?" He combed his fingers through the remains of her braid, letting it unravel.

"We can be married tomorrow."

That jerked Elya up, gaping at him. "Tomorrow? But… but how?"

He grinned at her, pleased to see that the idea wasn't frightening, just surprising. "Isabela. She has the power to marry people, as Captain."

Elya blinked once then laughed, shaking her head, lighting up with that honey glow. "Cullen, you are the most romantic, impulsive, maddening man I have ever met." She laughed and threw her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight. "Isabela is going to be so confused as to why a husband and wife want to get married again!" Cullen's thorough kiss was his own laughing answer.


	24. Chapter 24

They talked well into the night, always touching. He told Elya of his childhood and his family, making her laugh at all their antics. Gently he coaxed her to tell him something, and she hesitantly spoke of her parents. As he encouraged her, the stories became easier to tell, more funny and filled with the happiness of her youth. He smiled warmly as her brittle tension faded. The pain and hurt may always be with her, but he saw her eyes clear, saw her smile come more frequently. Small steps, he told himself as he brushed her hair off her cheek or smoothed his palms over her back. Healing came in small steps.

As much as they didn't want to stop, her exhaustion became too much for Elya to ignore anymore. Her recovery and the emotional desolation and elation were both physically and mentally draining. Her eyelids became heavy, and she laid her head on his shoulder, her breathing deep and even.

A faint smile played around his lips. "Come, Elya. It's time for bed." He squeezed her tightly for a moment, clutching her to him. He still couldn't believe this was happening. That she was not only in his arms, but that she would be his wife in short order. Elya mumbled a sleepy protest, but she pulled away just enough for him to slip out and stand. The blankets were a tangled mess and he helped to arrange them over her. For a long moment he gazed down at Elya, his heart so full. Her sooty black lashes fanned across her dark cheek, her dusky lips parted in utter relaxation. Her loose hair was a cascade over her pillow, hand curled beneath her chin.

Elya blearily blinked, turning to find him looking at her. Without hesitation she reached for him, "Will you sleep with me?"

Cullen caught her hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the back. "Yes, of course." He pushed down the erotic thoughts that had jumped into his sorely abused body. "Just one minute." She smiled and resumed her position, oblivious to what she had just asked him.

He turned to the lamp, slowly attempting to release the tension gripping his body. Their burning kiss had started everything, but her refusal of his proposal and then her subsequent revelations of her past had knocked away his heat. And then sitting with her, holding her while wearing naught but his loose trousers and her a nightgown had been a test, but he could withstand these few short hours.

Tomorrow would be their wedding night. And he was a gentleman, Cullen reminded himself firmly. It was a matter of honor. He could wait for one more night before bedding the woman he loved.

Determined, he blew out the candle, then slipped beneath the covers to gather the already sleeping Elya in his arms. She was soft and warm and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his body. He sighed as he curled into her, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply of her beloved scent. "I love you," he whispered, and reminded himself of his resolve. He thought it would be impossible, but he fell asleep with thankful swiftness.

Sometime later, though, Cullen woke from a vivid and dangerous dream to a reality that was just as stimulating. He was extremely aroused, hard and subtly thrusting against Elya's bottom that he had unconsciously pressed into his own hips. His breathing was rough and ragged, desire pounding through his veins and he had to struggle against the urge to keep going, and to continue harder.

Cullen forced himself to still and then peel his hand away from where he had banded her hips in place. His breathing was so loud and unsteady, he was amazed by the fact that Elya still seemed to be asleep, unaware of what he had done. Thank the Maker for small miracles, he silently prayed, and swallowed hard. Carefully he pulled his pelvis away, ruthlessly cutting back the disappointed groan as he left her warmth and rolled onto his back.

His exhale of relief filled the cabin, and he held himself still, trying to focus on anything but himself and the woman next to me. The Mabari… right. He still didn't have a name. Maybe he could-

"Cullen?" Elya's voice was tentative, quiet and uncertain in the darkness, and he froze. Prickles of heat and ice raced down his back; had she been awake for a while or did moving away from her wake her up?

And which one did he want the answer to be?

Belatedly he choked out roughly, "Yes?"

She rolled over so that she was facing him in the darkness, and he held his breath, waiting for her to continue.

Finally she asked, "Are you going to stop what you were doing?" Different kinds of heat exploded through him. Embarrassment that she had caught him was certainly there, but the surge of arousal eclipsed it. She had known what he had been doing, from the way she said it she knew what it meant. And she was wondering if it would continue.

Which it would not, he desperately tried to remind himself. He could wait until tomorrow. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but instead he heard himself say, "What was I doing?"

Elya's breath hitched, and he knew that she was blushing. A faint part of his mind shouted that this was not gentlemanly behavior; that he needed to apologize and move off the bed. But then Elya's husky voice, lilting and affected spoke just next to him. "You were touching me." Quiet, low, not nervous or upset.

It went straight to his head… and his arousal. Before he knew it, his own voice, lowered with seduction, shimmered in the air. "Where? Where was I touching you?"

He heard her now. Her mouth had to be open, her panting a physical caress over his chest, and he shivered. "My… my breasts," her voice was throaty now, and he belatedly realized that she was the one who was seducing him. He groaned lowly, his hands clenching and unclenching, desperately wishing he could remember what his sleeping body had done. Despite her thick white nightgown, he knew her feel would have seared his palms. Elya's voice dropped lower, "and a touch between my thighs."

"Maker," his eyes slammed closed, involuntarily surging and he took in deep trembling breaths.

Suddenly, Elya's hands where on his arm, and she was coming closer, her body slowly molding to his side. Against his ear, she whispered, "Are you going to stop?"

"Maker's breath," his body seized, and he trembled with want. With the need for her that he could only just control. "Elya, love, I…" he cast around frantically for a reason, scarcely remembering. "Tomorrow. We will be married tomorrow and-"

She rose up onto her elbow, and her hair brushed against his shoulder, silken flames that burned him. "We both don't want to wait," her voice had a hint of amusement, but mostly there was just the same pulse that beat through his veins. "We have tonight. Kiss me."

A chuckle escaped him, surprised him. With how wracked he was, he would never have thought he would be able to laugh, but he did, affection having him reach up into the darkness to find Elya's cheek. "Yes, dear," he said with mock-meekness. He heard her little laugh, and he leaned up to kiss her chastely, their curved lips finding each other and matching. And despite his self-control and his honor, there would be no stopping.

He let Elya lead the kiss at first, kept his hand on her cheek and the other clenched and pressed against his side. Anchored, letting her lead, at least for the moment. Her lips were everywhere, exploring his face; the corner of his mouth, his new scar, the rasp of his stubble along his jawline, the tip of his nose, the lines between his brows. He couldn't keep the small curve of a smile off his lips. It was so endearing to him, her thoroughness. It was so very her, the want to know everything about him, he wasn't going to disappoint.

She returned to his lips, and it seemed only natural that he return the favor. He grasped her arms, easing her down to his side and rolling them so that now he hovered above her, propped up on his elbows. He kept his hips back, trying valiantly to ignore the way he was straining towards her, could feel every heartbeat in his shaft. He very much feared that he wouldn't last long when it came time to… He had been on edge for too long to have any sort of staying power.

Cullen traced his lips along Elya's straight eyebrows, pressing a kiss to the proud bump in the middle of her nose. He followed down to her lips, tasting their curve, dipping inside for an open kiss that made her sigh lightly, just now starting to touch upon the arousal he was feeling. He couldn't resist lingering, deepening the kiss a little harder, twining his tongue with hers. With a slight groan he tore himself away from her heady taste. He was exploring, after all. And there was much he had yet to discover.

He used his fingers to tilt her head, and pressed a kiss to the underside of her throat, keeping his lips to the silken skin as he moved lower, to where her heartbeat fluttered. He flicked his tongue at the rapid beat, pleased that she was affected. But not nearly enough, not yet.

He shifted down, lower, his legs becoming entangled with the sheets. He kicked them away, dragging the blankets off of their bodies. Cool air swirled in around them, and he felt Elya shiver slightly, but he wasn't going to let her be cold for long. He slipped his hands around her waist, gripping her firmly, and he finally kissed down from her throat. Before he got far he encountered the cotton of her nightgown, its high neckline covering her primly. He hovered just over the material, his exhales warm as he inched downward. He paused for a short second to raggedly say, "Let me know what feels good." Then he lowered his mouth to her covered nipple.

"Oh," Elya gasped, her body tensing. Cullen dragged his tongue over her, his mouth watering for a taste of what she hid, but he didn't attempt to remove the cloth. Instead he traced the tip of his tongue over the slight peak, over and over again, saturating the cotton. The stimulation caused the bud to tighten more, and he heard her startled sound again. When the nightgown clung to her skin, he pressed down and sucked her nipple fast and hard. "Cullen!" She moaned, and she arched upwards, her hips shifting in surprise. He smiled wickedly, clamping his hands firmly so she stayed motionless, then moved so that he could change his attention to her other breast.

He repeated his actions on the other side, a little faster this time. The cool air was no doubt brushing against her neglected nipple, causing it to tighten more, sensitive and lonely. Elya's hands fluttered to his shoulders, and when he sucked this one into his mouth she shivered, her fingernails digging into his skin. "Cullen, it's… it's good," she murmured into the dark, sounding a little dazed. He smiled and rewarded her with something more. He trapped the tip between his teeth and gently rolled her nipple.

Her aroused groan was so damned erotic, her restless movement a temptation. He held her still for a moment and pulled away, shooting a sharp stream of air across the wet fabric. Her breath hitched, and Cullen moved, crawling over her. He pressed his stomach into the v of her hips, and she naturally parted her thighs for him, just as eager to have him against her as he was. He shifted slightly, his cock trapped against the bedding, the pressure sending a languorous heat slipping through his veins. It wasn't helping, he noted in a distant fashion, the almost undeniable urge to thrust compounding. But he wasn't done yet; Elya needed more preparing.

He lifted his hands to her breasts, the full softness of her filling his palms. He tested their weight and shape, the curve and bounce. He set his mouth to the first nipple, caressing and probing with his tongue as he shaped her, using his palms to mold and his fingers to tweak. "How does this feel," he asked hotly, hovering just above a nipple, the other trapped between rolling fingers.

"It's good," she moaned, "I didn't know…" her hips pressed up against him, instinct guiding her and tormenting him.

A heavy haze was descending on his mind, and he became more and more focused on the way she moved and arched. He continued to suckle and play with her through the nightgown, listening hard to wait till her breathing was uncontrolled and ragged. Her hands moved to his hair, and she pressed him down against her breast, arching into him and groaning aloud. It was what he had been longing for; she was lost to the desire, to the sensations.

He dropped one hand down to her calf, fingers drawing faint designs on her skin and he slowly drew them upwards. Past her knee, up to the suppleness of her thigh, continuing to suckle her as he lifted her nightgown. He waited for her to tense, to become shy and hesitant, but she didn't. Instead she parted her thighs more, pressing against his palm, opening herself to him.

Cullen pulled away and pressed his forehead to her chest, sucking in breaths, dizzy with want. He clenched her thigh in one hand, trying to force words to his mind. "I don't want to hurt you Elya," his voice was guttural and so deep he didn't recognize it. "I will try to make it so you won't feel pain." She was a virgin, and this would be an intrusion, but by the Maker he would be thoughtful. He couldn't bear hurting her with such an intimate act.

Elya smoothed her hands across his shoulders, and it was only then that he realized that he was sweating, tense and trembling. "I feel… strange," her voice was shaking, "But I want more."

He groaned, both relieved and defeated. "Don't worry, love. I will take you there." So saying, he rose up on one knee and captured her lips in a fiery kiss. She gasped, then eagerly returned it, her tongue tangling with his, teeth scraping and tasting. And without his body pressed into her, Cullen slipped his hands around her thigh and to her heat.

They both groaned as Cullen felt the wetness that greeted him, Elya surging and tensing in surprise, but she didn't pull away. He dragged his fingers through her curls, cupping her sex gently. He brushed along her nether lips, stroking without parting, letting her grow accustomed to the feeling. With a shuddering sigh she relaxed, and he took it as the invitation it was. With one finger he dipped inside slightly, gritting his teeth hard at the feel of her heat, his hips pulsing against her hip. She panted in combination to the slight intrusion and the press of his hardness, still unsure but so willing.

Drawing from her wetness, Cullen eased up to her bud, touching it lightly. Elya jumped again, this time a husky groan revealing her approval. With a firm pressure, Cullen circled it, and she sucked in a breath, "Oh Maker!" Greedy and excited, and that was when his control splintered.

He plundered her mouth as he touched her, fingers firm as they strummed her clit and dragged across her opening. He rocked against her hip, and Elya pressed back against him and down to his fingers. Their kisses were open-mouthed and hot, ragged and desperate and surging. He couldn't get enough of her taste, couldn't get enough of her feel. The only things he knew were that he would be inside her shortly, and he needed to get her to the point of orgasm.

He rubbed her pearl rapidly, and her keening 'ohs' increased in fervor, her hips thrashing. Sharp relief sparked in the recess of his mind; she was ready finally. Just on the verge, lost to the sensations.

He sharply pulled away, fumbling with her nightgown and ripping it over her head, Elya helping to rid themselves of the barrier. Then he attacked the laces of his trousers and ripped them apart. Elya made an urging noise, sending a pulse up his cock. He groaned and kicked away the offending confines, kneeling between her splayed knees. Like a magnet, his hand wrapped around his cock, and he groaned, eager for any stimulation. He couldn't help himself, pumping once, twice before crowding down into Elya. Her hands wrapped around his torso, bringing his chest flush against hers. The both groaned at the press of skin against skin. Her breasts were soft and giving, her nipples hard and he shifted against them, a shiver skittering under his skin.

He kissed her again, one hand at her jaw, his thumb pulling her chin down so that she was open to his mouth. The other wrapped around his shaft, and he finally guided himself to her wetness. Desperation pounded through him, and he brushed his blunt tip through her wetness, clamping down on the urge to thrust hard. Elya moaned at him, her thighs parting more, arching to give him better access. And he wedged against her opening and slowly slid forward.

Tight and hot and wet. "Maker!" Cullen threw his head back, gritting his teeth to keep from coming with only the tip inside. "Oh Maker," he repeated, gripping her thigh as he continued down. Elya squirmed slightly, enough to send her rippling around him, adjusting to the unfamiliar invasion. "Elya, do you have any idea how you feel?" He groaned, kissing her wildly, giving her no chance to reply even if she had been able to.

He pulled back somehow, pressing in a little further. Then again and again, sinking down a little more each time. He reached her maidenhead and stopped, sweating as he clamped down on his hips, refusing to let himself move. "Just a little more," he promised her. Then he brought his fingers to her clit and massaged the sensitive nerves. Elya cried out eagerly, moving herself along his shaft, lost and uncaring, and Cullen broke through the tiny barrier, finally, finally sinking all the way in.

Elya didn't seem to notice, kissing his shoulder, his throat, grabbing onto his head to kiss him with all the passion thrumming through their bodies. His chest was tight, possession adding to his starvation. She was his. Elya was his. And she felt it too, loving words dropping from both their lips as they sucked in air before descending into each other again. At last he let himself thrust as he had been aching to, working her clit in time with his pounding. It was too much, too long, too many hours imagining her naked and passionate beneath him, and he felt himself rapidly reach the edge.

He grabbed her hips with both hands, fingers possibly bruising with his intensity, and buried his face in her neck. He was not in control any longer, hips fast and jerking and he groaned at her softness and her cries. Then, miraculously, he felt her start to climax, the trembling of her inner walls multiplying and caressing him with tightness and pleasure. Her startled cry filled the cabin, and Cullen reared back just enough to swallow them, his own release catapulting him into ecstasy.

White, dark, colors shot through him, and he thrust once more, his seed rushing blindingly from him. It was too much, not enough, and made all the better because he knew that this was only the beginning. They would be married, be together, his life complete in ways he had only dreamed of.

After a lifetime and a second passed, Cullen found himself collapsed on Elya, little tremors still shivering down his spine. His arms had somehow wrapped around her waist and he was plastered to her body, his face buried against sweat kissed skin. He wanted to stay just as they were, connected and so close nothing could separate them, but he knew that was impossible. His weight could not be easy for her. He pulled his softening member from the haven of her body, groaning exhaustedly as he rolled so she was splayed over his chest. For a long time there was only the sound of them catching their breaths, the volcanos of their bodies cooling.

"Is it always like that?" Elya's voice was slurred, sated and tired, not moving a muscle.

He chuckled slightly, feeling just as relaxed and indolent. "No, not always. And it will get better as we learn each other." Next time he wouldn't be so starved for her he could make things last longer. Would be able to spend his time finding everything that made her feel good, and take her to heights they would discover together.

Elya made a sleepy sound, in interest or disbelief, he couldn't tell, but either way he was looking forward to proving to her the validity of his statement. He was smiling, he realized, happy and sated and loved. With a little wiggling, and Elya protesting slightly, Cullen managed to get the sheets over their naked forms and tucked her close. "Sleep well, my love."

"Yes. Love. Cullen," was Elya's nonsensical reply, the whispered words from her heart and unfiltered. Could a man be any luckier? One lingering kiss later, he fell asleep, the smile still on his lips.


	25. Chapter 25

Cullen woke with a smile on his face, a lovely lethargy slowly giving way to a peaceful wakefulness. He opened his eyes to see the little cabin room in bright sunlight, the normal creak and groan of the ship sounding comforting and delightful. Everything was perfect this morning; he knew that there would be trouble days ahead, that he still had a critical job to complete. He had to deliver the message to the Commander and to find the traitor, dangerous tasks for any man. But today, there was only happiness.

He turned his head and looked down at the reason why. Elya was curled into his side, one hand resting on his stomach, the other wrapped loosely around his arm, her legs entwined with his. She was still deeply asleep, her hair a tangled mess from their lovemaking. She was so utterly lovely that he couldn't breathe. Maybe he was a fool in love, but no one could be more beautiful than his bride.

Needing to touch her, Cullen rolled to his side and slid his hand up her bare back, pulling her in to kiss her temple. She made a sleepy, happy sound, sending electric tingles up his spine. "Cullen," she mumbled, and he had the utter pleasure of watching her wake. The way her dark lashes slowly blinked open and closed a few times, her proud nose scrunch as she yawned mightily, her body arching as she stretched, pressing against him. It started a fire in his gut, reacting instinctively to the primal pulse he knew they created between them, but he firmly pushed it away. Next time they made love, it would be as husband and wife.

"Good morning," he smiled down at her warmly, "How are you feeling?" He felt a touch of concern, worry that she might be sore after last night. He had been rather… lost in it.

But the fear was banished after her slow, brilliant smile. "Wonderful," she raised her lips, and Cullen obligingly kissed her, lightly and quickly. The kiss of a couple, secure in each other's feelings. He didn't tempt fate by lingering over her lips while they were both naked and pressed together.

"Good." Cullen repeated the little kiss, then said, "Now, let us go talk to the Captain!" So saying, he waggled his brows mischievously, and whisked himself from bed, already hunting for clothes.

Elya laughed and sat up, the sheets dropping away from her breasts enough to stop him while he was in the middle of pulling his trousers on. "Cullen!" She laughed, shaking her head, "She might not even be awake yet!"

Forcing his attention back to the task and he shrugged, "So we will wake her." He spied one of the shifts that Elya was borrowing, grabbed it up and playfully tossed it to her. "But I suspect she is already up. I think it is later than either of us intended to sleep in."

His energy seemed to rub off on her, and she quickly drew the shift over her head, stepping from the tangled sheets to the water basin to begin her morning routine. With his simpler clothing, Cullen was done sooner than she was, and so he sat on the bed, watching as she deftly twisted her hair into a softer style than she normally wore. Elya glanced at him, her lips gently curved as she asked, "Why are you smiling?"

He hadn't realized that he had been, but it made perfect sense. He shrugged and said simply, truthfully, "I am happy."

She stilled, another of those beautiful smiles rising to her lips, her dark eyes sparkling. A flush rose to her cheeks and she answered "Me too." Which of course meant it was time for the longer kiss that he had held off on bestowing earlier.

A sharp little bark at their door made them break away from each other, and Cullen chuckled as he crossed the room. He had never expected a dog to play at being a chaperon, but he had never expected Elya either.

The Mabari limped inside, looking haughtily at the two of them and sat very stiffly on his makeshift bed. Cullen laughed, dropping down to give the big dog apologetic pettings. "Sorry we locked you out last night, buddy. You seemed to be having fun with Dog. Plus, Elya and I needed some time to talk about things." Cullen swore that the indignant look faded some, to be replaced by a sideway look filled with curiosity. "You see, Elya and I are going to be married today." The Mabari chuffed and tilted his head, as if to say, 'Well, Finally.' Then a huge tongue streaked wet lightning all up one side of his face and the Mabari was dancing over to Elya to lavish the same attention on her hands.

Cullen laughed and pressed himself to standing. "I think we have his blessing." A few happy barks echoed through the room, agreeing with him. Elya washed her hands, passing him a damp towel so he could do the same with his face. He grinned at her, delighting in her open expressions. Before last night, Elya had always tried to keep her composure in place, at least a part of herself locked away. She had been afraid of his rejection, relied on the training that a 'proper young lady' would receive. But now, now she knew she didn't hide from him, and she glowed.

With a courtly bow, Cullen held out his elbow to Elya, "Shall we find Captain Isabela?"

"Oh yes," Elya readily agreed, linking her arm with his. A sudden shyness had her lowering her eyes, and she quietly said, "I… I hope that this is not too sudden for you?"

Startled, Cullen made her look him in the eye. "Elya, I love you. I want to be married to you. This instant. Last night. Since you bullied me into remaining inactive, confined to bed." The tentative look disappeared, the shadows lifting and easing and an amused smile chased away her doubts. He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss, speaking against her knuckles, "I would ask the same question of you, Elya. This is not happening too quickly?"

She instantly shook her head. "No, Cullen. I am happy and I love you. I want to be with you."

Cullen lifted his head, a roguish twinkle in his eye, and he playfully pulled her to the door, tugging her in his hurry. "Then let's go!"

* * *

"Well," Isabela looked between her fellow Rivaini countrywoman and the man holding her hand, "You two certainly surprised me. And I am not one who is easy to surprise." She sat back and crossed her arms, shaking her head with an amused smirk. "I was sure you two were married already. Newly married, of course. Cullen was trying too hard to impress you, and Elya, you were too conscious of him. But definitely married."

Elya swallowed, nervous over what the Captain would say, tightly clutching Cullen's hand. What if she refused to marry them? Elya would follow Cullen; she had decided that before he had proposed. They could be married in Ferelden of course, but his family would surely feel much better if they were traveling together as a married couple. And Society would not have another reason to think poorly of the match Cullen would make.

The Captain slapped her hands to her trouser covered thighs, making Elya jump. Isabela stood, Hawke following her example while Merrill blinked wide-eyed at the couple before her. Automatically, both Elya and Cullen rose; she could feel the tension in his body, an oddly reassuring fact. He was just as nervous of Isabela's refusal as Elya was.

Isabela came up to Cullen and turned him smartly towards the door. "Okay, time for you to leave now!"

Cullen sputtered, their fingers slipping from each other and he cast a wild look back to Elya. Both Hawke and Isabela were not letting him turn or stop, ushering him out of their cabin. "Wait, but- hold on!"

"We can't do anything about your sorry state," Hawke raked her gaze down the worn and ill-fitting clothes Cullen wore, "but we can certainly give Elya a gown befitting a bride. So shoo! We have work to do!"

Elya sucked in a breath, dazzled. "So you will?" Beneath her starry excitement, Elya almost laughed at the breathless way she was speaking.

"Of course," Isabela said, so matter-of-factly Elya felt tears well. She sought Cullen's gaze, and the stunned but excited grin mirrored her own. Their eyes lock, and Elya felt like she might faint from the surge of happiness and love that filled her. Just before the door was shut on him, Cullen winked at her, and then she was alone with the three women.

"Now," Merrill cried, linking arms with Elya. "Let us see what we have that could be a wedding dress!" She raced to one of the closets, throwing open the doors and immediately started rooting through the colors hanging. "White, if we can manage it. A bride should wear white if she can, but it is more important Elya look beautiful."

"Agreed," Hawke plucked a dress out, lying it across a small pile Merrill had already started. "Where are our dresses?" Hawke turned and frowned at Isabela, and Elya was pleased to see a bright pink flush making her crystal blue eyes sparkle excitedly. She had gotten a very serious impression from Hawke, but there beat the heart of a romantic in her breast it appeared.

The Captain snapped her fingers, then dashed to a trunk tucked beside the bed. "I packed them away after we had the broken window. I didn't want them to be ruined." She knelt and lifted the lid, carefully sorting through the contents before reverently lifting a large bundle from depths. With a triumphant air she placed it on the bed and called Elya over. "These are our wedding dresses. Maybe one of them would work for you."

The girls left their position by the wardrobe, rushing over to watch with excitement the unveiling of such precious memories. "Oh," Merrill sighed happily as the waterproof cloth was peeled away to reveal the first dress. "I do love it still." She lifted it and gently shook, the folds of white cotton dropping down to show the delicate embroidery stitched along the round neckline and bottom hem. Little vines and leaves were threaded around each other, a rainbow of flowers peeking through. Pretty and delicate, bright and happy, the dress reflected Merrill's personality well.

"Here is mine," Isabela lifted the shimmering gown and held it to her front, her lips curling in one of the purest smiles Elya had ever seen her wear. The bodice was cut low, far lower than Elya would feel comfortable wearing, but the design was simple and gorgeous. A crossed v neckline with long, off-the-shoulder sleeves, the only ornamentation on the dress were what looked to be real diamonds scattered around the waist in a bursting pattern. With the silken material used, the dress was gorgeously sophisticated and sensual, just stunning. Instinctively, Elya reached out to touch one of the gems, marveling at the sparkle of it.

Quietly, Hawke lifted the final dress, her expression suffused with soft warmth. She didn't speak, a tender smile doing all the talking for her. For a moment Elya was captured by the gentleness the woman exuded. Hawke was a warrior, as Cullen was, and she probably didn't show this side of herself very often. It was lovely to see, made the piercing blue of her eyes soften with love as she looked between Merrill and Isabela. The three of them seemed lost in each other for a moment, clearly reminiscing on their own special day. Elya felt as if she were intruding, about to take a step away to give them privacy, when her eyes fell onto Hawke's gown and she gasped.

Lace adorned the capped sleeves and the sweetheart neckline, a delicate pattern of intricate work. The skirt fell from the high waist in soft sheer folds, chiffon floating around the ivory sheath to lengthen slightly longer in the back into a small train. It was understated and light and Elya loved it from the moment she saw it.

"So, this one, huh?" Isabela's voice wasn't enough to tear Elya's gaze away, still transfixed.

"Elya," Hawke's voice finally brought her eyes up. "Would you like to try it on?"

Once more she felt slightly out of place, that she would be stealing the woman's wedding gown from her. "Oh, I am sure it wouldn't fit," she hedged. Indeed, Hawke was taller than her, although not by much, but she was more in shape. Her warrior's body was leaner and stronger, while Elya's lifestyle had not precluded her to laboring. She was softer, rounder, and probably wouldn't be able to make the dress lay on her body well.

"I would be honored if you would wear it," Hawke spoke again with that softness not normally apparent. She held out the gown and Elya's fingers brushed against the delicate silk, the layers of sheer material delicious beneath her fingers and fluttering as they slid against each other.

"And you never know if you don't try!" Merrill pipped up, setting aside her dress to bounce over and link an arm around Elya's waist. "It is dress up time!"

Elya laughed, letting herself be lead to where a mirror was attached to the inside of one of the closets. "Oh very well, you have convinced me."

"I think some champagne is in order," Isabela contributed to the merriness of the atmosphere. In no time at all there was the sound of a pop, then Elya held a glass filled with the bubbling liquid, laughing with the others as her day dress was slipped from her body. "Here is to Elya and Cullen," Isabela cried out, the other two women echoing the sentiment loudly, and she laughed as she clinked her glass with them. The bubbles tickled her nose, reflected the delight of the women.

Maker, had Elya had never expected to feel as she did right now. On her wedding day. She couldn't stop the wide smile, the giggles that sprang so easily to her lips. When she had been a young woman ready for her come out, she had thought of her wedding. Like any of her friends, she had wanted to find a handsome gentleman to whisk her off her feet, but she had been more enthralled with the idea of marrying a titled and rich lord than of truly falling in love. She would have settled for a good match for her own comfort that for holding out for the real happiness of a loving partner. In many ways she had been an utter fool. And after Kirkwall and the loss of her parents, she had never thought to marry, burying the hopes away and had never really looked back at such mercenary ideas. She had matured, grown, and had seen what true happiness was worth.

There was nothing avaricious in marrying Cullen, though. She knew their life ahead would have hardships. Cullen was a soldier, and they would have to reckon with her reputation. There would be no grand riches and dazzling titles. But they had each other, and between the two of them their life would be wonderful. A secret smile played over her lips, dreams of the future giving her such joy she couldn't contain the sheen of tears that rose to her eyes.

"None of that now," Hawke laughed, arranging the dress to lift over Elya's head. "You will have plenty of reason to cry in a short while. Just wait till you see him waiting for you."

That of course, just made her tear up a little more, but she laughed and blinked it away. "I probably will," she set down her glass and prepared to have the dress placed over her. Isabela turned her so she couldn't see herself in the mirror, and then Hawke settled the dress over her.

The chiffon wafted and trembled as the skirt tumbled to the floor, playing around her feet. Elya slipped her arms through the little sleeves, exclaiming with delight over the beautiful lace, tracing her fingers along the lower edge of it, down to lift the skirt and feel the airy movement. Hawke went to work lacing the back together, and within just a few minutes she was done.

"Turn! Turn!" Merrill beamed, and Elya did just that.

"Oh," she gasped in wonder, stunned at the view. The sheath of the skirt clung to her legs, the lighter sheer material dancing to the floor. It fit far better than she expected, the bodice tight and lifting her breasts, but not indecently, the sleeves caressing the edge of her collar bones and fitting nicely over her shoulders. She turned, looking down the draping of the back, the way it fell so elegantly to the train. She sighed as she spun the other way, the luxurious movement so compelling she couldn't take her eyes from it. "This is the most beautiful dress I have ever worn," she breathed, astonished and awed.

"You look beautiful," Hawke said lowly, and Elya turned, and impulsively gathered her into a strong hug.

"Thank you," she whispered fiercely, more tears catching in her throat. "I will remember this always."

Hawke sniffed wetly and patted her on the back. "So will I." They broke apart, brown eyes and blue shimmering. "Now," Hawke said with a stronger voice. "On to the rest!"

The next hour was filled with more champagne, good natured teasing and wedded advice. The girls quickly changed into more formal garments, quietly passing instructions Elya couldn't hear to people outside the cabin, assumedly making arrangements. Merrill took down Elya's hair and brushed it till it shone, then arranged it into an elegant knot high on the back of her head. Isabela worked light make-up over her features, highlighting her cheekbones and eyelashes, gliding something over her lips so that they gleamed. Hawke was sitting at Elya's feet, competently and swiftly placing stitches along the front of the hem to shorten it.

Elya's chest was full, so happy. Could this day get any better?

As if in answer, there came a rapping knock at the door to the cabin, a pattern so familiar. Elya jumped to her feet, heart in her throat, and she raced across the room and flung the door open.

There was Cole, the spirit just as pale and mysterious as the only time she had seen him before. But his head was tilted back, broad hat showing a huge smile on his youthful features, and his arms were full. "Every bride should have flowers," he said simply, so pleased as he held up the colorful collection of blooms.

"Cole," she choked up, and then her arms were around him, the flowers somehow safely caught in Merrill's arms so they wouldn't be crushed by the strong hug she wrapped the boy up in. She was crying once more, unable to stop herself, and Cole patted her gently on the back. "Did you know?" Elya asked into his shoulder, "Did you know what would happen?"

Cole squeezed her tightly, knowing exactly what she was asking. "He needed you. And I thought maybe you needed him."

She laughed, "I do. We do." She pulled back with a sniff and met his eyes. "Thank you. From both of us. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Cole beamed once more and patted her cheek. "I'm glad I could help."

She linked her arm with his and pulled him into the room, the girls instantly descending in a happy flurry. Isabela was scolding her gently, dabbing at the tears beneath her eyes and touching up the make-up she had smudged. Hawke got back to work on the hem, asking Cole questions about how he and Elya had become friends. Merrill, Cole, and Elya created a bouquet from the myriad of flowers Cole had brought. Darkened yellow dahlias became the centerpiece, the color so similar to Cullen's eyes. With that they added little sprays of white lilac and the glossy green of salal leaves.

Merrill found a white ribbon, and they bundled up the flowers with a pretty bow. "Wait!" Merrill sorted through the flowers again, "One last touch." She swiftly made a little rosette of a single amber and honey dahlia, a white lilac arching down, and a green sprig tucked behind them, and carefully pinned it in Elya's hair.

Her four friends stepped back and looked Elya over, standing in her wedding gown and holding her bouquet, huge smiles on all their faces. "You are glowing. Perfect." Cole stated, and the others immediately agreed.

"We will be waiting for you," Isabela winked and slipped out the door. To go to Cullen.

Merrill fluffed the skirts behind Elya, arranging it so the train flared behind her. "Are you ready?"

Elya felt as if she could fly with the excitement and joy filling her. This was happening. She would see Cullen in just a moment. Be married to him so soon. "Absolutely," she said eagerly, and her friends opened the doors to her future.


	26. Chapter 26

Elya almost couldn't breathe, the butterflies in her body racing from her head to her toes. Everything had taken on a sunburst aura, a dream, yet at the same time she felt as if right now was more real than at any time in her life. Her fingers tightened around the colorful and fragrant flowers in her hand, and she watched with bated breath the doors opening.

Brilliant sunlight dazzled her eyes, forcing her to blink and chuckle as she waited for her eyes to adjust. Before she could see, though, she heard. A setar. The sounds of the string instrument, the intricate strumming, sent chills through her. Elya closed her eyes and savored the memories, a rush of Home hitting her. Of her childhood, the warm and humid air, spiced with delicious scents. Of her mother, laughing and playing with her in the evenings after a day of study at the Circle, her father catching her up to swing her in circles. A golden youth, joy, curiosity, unconditional love and support. A history, a past, she had never expected to touch again once she had fled Ferelden, once her parents had been lost to her. Yet it was here. In this song, in the music. Her smile was tremulous and astonished. How wonderful.

Her eyes flew open, and she stepped out onto the deck. And there Cullen was. Their eyes connected, and the glow of his smile, of him, outshone the sun. Golden curls jostled about with the sea breeze, the exhaustion and signs of his recovery vanished with the light and the happiness that beat between them. The memory of the first time she had seen him came to her; his whisky colored eyes had been glazed and unseeing, face pale and lined with pain. Looking him now, how alive he was, she could only thank every god and goddess she knew. Who would have thought that they would be here now, in love and about to be married? Tears rushed into her eyes, and she laughed at herself as she desperately tried to keep them at bay. Hawke had been right; seeing Cullen was reason enough to make her weep with joy.

He was in the middle of the deck, but as soon as their eyes connected, he strode to her side, long steps that quickly ate the distance. Then he was there, his hand outstretched, sliding against hers, lacing their fingers together. "Elya," he breathed, his eyes caressing and blazing with love. "You look gorgeous."

She laughed, her throat too tight. A tear, two, slipped down her cheek, and Cullen immediately brushed them away, still gazing at her rapturously. "You haven't even looked at my dress." He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of hers any more than she could.

Still without doing so, Cullen lifted her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. "I don't need to."

She sniffed again, another watery laugh, squeezing his hand tightly. "The music?" Awe and wonder filled her voice, and Cullen's smile grew a bit bolder.

"You loved it in Rivain; it was your home and a part of who you are. So Isabela and I chatted." Her heart grew larger, if possible. He was thinking of the stories she had told him just last night. Had heard the longing for those happy days and decided to incorporate her culture into such a special ritual. What an amazing, wonderful man he was. Cullen turned them, walking slowly towards the knot of people waiting for them. "There is more."

Indeed there was. Isabela beamed from behind a low built table, a sofreyé aghd. A crucial part of a Rivaini wedding, and something she had never expected to see, especially on a ship. Yet there it was, almost perfect, or as close to perfect as they could manage with the limited supplies aboard. A richly decorated rug covered the table, and all across the crowded surface were bowls of flowers, fruit, nuts. Freshly baked bread scented the air alongside the sweetness of the flowers. A tray of herbs and spices, all colorful and bright, even if not quite the proper ones, but still wonderful. A large bowl of gold coins winked in the light, before it a beautiful clear container filled with amber honey. But the centerpiece was a mirror, with two candlesticks on either side. One was hers, she realized as she and Cullen came up to it, the one that she had brought from her cottage. Unremarkable, battered, yet the memory of it next to her bed, the knowledge that Cullen had thought of it while setting up their table, filled her heart. The other candlestick was gold, but not showy. Practical and elegant, and the mirror fitted the same theme.

Cullen gently led her to the low cushion stationed before the table, and in a stunned daze, Elya sank down. Their thighs pressed together, linked hands resting on their legs, her flowers still in her other hand. There, in the mirror, they were. Together, eternity, their lives now forever linked. Her butterflies stilled, her heartbeat slowed, became steady. In the reflection, Elya looked to Cullen, and she drew in a steady breath when she saw that the giddiness had left him as well, the same shining, steady reverence on his face.

For the first time, Elya drank in the rest of him. He was not wearing the same clothing that he had dressed in that morning, uncertain yet hopeful that Isabela would marry them. Gone was the ill-fitting and ragged clothing that Cole had provided for him. He wore instead a fitted red shirt, gold buttons shining down his chest. The long sleeves were perhaps a bit short, but it fit across his shoulders admirably. He wore black trousers, a little large and the bottom hem rolled once. He was beautiful and bright and was very shortly to be her husband.

She swallowed and blinked up to Isabela, suddenly aware of everyone else around them. It looked as if all of the crew were dressed up nicely, broad to intrigued smiles on everyone's faces. Even the grouchy old sailor who had rowed them aboard had a small curve on his leathery face. Cole sat slightly off to the side on the railing, rocking back and forth to the music and wearing a pleased smile. Hawke and Merrill had their hands clasped together just behind the Captain, Hawke valiantly trying to keep her eyes clear. Elya flashed a commiserating smile; she was having no luck with that task either. Although no longer filled with butterflies, the tears would not stop brimming. She sniffed again and quickly brushed her fingers beneath her eyes.

"Are you ready?" Isabel asked them, and in the mirror Elya's eyes caught with Cullen's.

"Ready," Cullen said, his voice thicker and lower. As affected as she was. Elya's own affirmative was just as emotional.

The musician changed tempo, the song becoming slower and sweeter, twisting around her heart and making the moment that much more poignant. Isabela's eyes were filled with understanding, steady and happy. Her friend, she thought again with stunned amazement. Another thing she had never expected to have, people who cared for her. Her friends, happy for her.

In Rivaini, Isabela began. Her husky voice picked up the rhythm of the sitar, the two working in harmony to bestow the gift of poetry. The words, spoken in her native tongue, washed over her. A poem of love. A poem of marriage. Elya and Cullen stared at each other in the mirror, connected in the eternity that the mirror represented. Once Isabela finished the poem in Rivaini, she spoke it again in Common.

 _May these vows and this marriage be blessed._

 _May it be sweet milk,_

 _this marriage, like wine and halvah._

 _May this marriage offer fruit and shade_

 _like the date palm._

 _May this marriage be full of laughter,_

 _our every day a day in paradise._

 _May this marriage be a sign of compassion,_

 _a seal of happiness here and hereafter._

 _May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,_

 _an omen as welcome_

 _as the moon in a clear blue sky._

 _I am out of words to describe_

 _How spirit mingles in this marriage._

Her words faded with the music, lingering in the air, moving and magical. Elya scarce noticed the tear slipping down her cheek, still too absorbed in the feeling of Cullen, his heartbeat against her palm. His eyes were so golden and blazing with such warmth Elya thought she would never be cold again. Warmed by his touch, warmed by his love.

Gently, Isabela spoke again. "Cullen, speak your vows."

His voice was still tight, but clear and strong, Cullen vowed to her: "I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days."

Elya squeezed Cullen's hand, drawing on her control to prevent herself from breaking into sobs. Cullen had just said that, to her. Amazed and dizzy and so full of happiness, Elya spoke the vows back to him. "I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this man the rest of my days." Promised through love, now promised to the world.

They were married. Elya let out a small, choked laugh, couldn't believe it. Cullen's jaw flexed several times, and she saw him swallow roughly, the fierce sheen of tears he battled with. Her warrior, always so strong, yet feeling this as deeply as she was.

Isabela cried, "What are you waiting for! Kiss your bride!" Elya's laughed burst from her, and then Cullen's arms were banded around her, his lips on hers and kissing her deeply. He was pouring everything into the kiss, and she was absorbing it, reflecting it right back to him. Eternity. Cheers and cries rose up from everyone on deck, clapping and stomping feet. The setar player picked up a sensual, fast paced song, and the reverent atmosphere changed into one of celebration.

"I love you," Elya whispered against his lips, eyes glistening, "Husband." She couldn't contain her smile.

"I love you," he returned, "ātashé del-am." i _The fire of my heart/i_. If Elya already wasn't thoroughly melted, she would have done so right there. His pronunciation wasn't perfect, but it was everything. He kissed her long and lovingly again, and Elya wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her flowers forgotten on the seat beside her.

"One more thing," Isabela pulled them back from each other, "and then we can get to the party!" Elya turned her head, thinking there was already a party in progress. The setar player had been joined by other instruments; the music they were making was fast and improvised, disorganized and pure fun. Men and women were already dancing, even more food being brought up to the deck while drinks were being passed around.

Cullen helped Elya to her feet, their hands still linked. Isabela collected up the pretty little jar of honey and brought it to them, a smirk on her lips. "The last part of the ceremony, and my personal favorite." Elya had always loved it too, sighing dreamily when she had seen other weddings as a child. The married couple had always seemed so absorbed in each other, so romantic, and now she knew why.

She dipped her pinky finger into the honey, and turned to Cullen. With a new, sensual smile Elya didn't know she had in her until Cullen had come along, she lifted her pinky to his lips, offering him the taste. Slowly, the party around them receding, Cullen's firm lips closed over her finger, his tongue licking the sweetness from her finger. His eyes darkened, his look promising pleasure as his pupils expanded. He released her with a small scrape, and Elya dazedly wondered if honey could be used for other things as well. Heat rose in her cheeks, her embarrassment miniscule compared to the excitement such a thought caused.

Then it was Cullen's turn, dipping his finger into the honey and offering it to her. And when Elya tasted the sweetness of the honey against his skin, she knew they would definitely need to try this again. She twirled her tongue around his pinky, flicking at the short nail. She watched with a fascinated thrill as Cullen stared at her lips hard, his other hand clenched around hers. She pulled away, and Cullen shuffled on his feet and cleared his throat.

Isabela's laugh broke them from the trance, and Elya realized that a number of the sailors were watching them still, wolf-whistles and knowing calls made her blush, made Cullen blush as well. "No disappearing during the party," Isabela winked at them. "Cheers to the happy couple!" She shouted to the sky, and everyone else followed suit.

The music was infectious and the atmosphere bright and happy. Still without letting go of her hand, Cullen pulled Elya into his body, wrapped an arm around her waist, and spun them into a fast paced waltz, dancing to the music. The gauzy layers of her dress floated as they whirled and dipped, and soon others were alongside them. Merrill was dancing with Cole, the boy avidly watching his feet as Merrill taught him a dance Elya didn't know. Isabela and Hawke were clapping in a Rivaini quick-step, their legs and feet moving so fast. Everyone was talking, laughing, singing. It was a loud, uproarious mess, nothing like the staid Ferelden parties she had known during her Season, and she loved every second of it.

No one was waltzing like she and Cullen where, though. He pulled her flush to his body as they twirled through couples, dropping his mouth to her ear, "Your dress is beautiful," he growled, "I will have to be very careful not to ruin it when I take it off you tonight."

Elya shivered, hard pressed not to pull him to their small cabin, but she didn't want to miss a second of this party. Of their wedding. So she instead rose up on her toes, catching his lips in a fiery kiss. "You won't have to be careful with my underwear," she purred. Cullen stumbled, a little growl catching in his throat, and Elya threw back her head and laughed. "Dance with me husband," her grin so large she could feel her face hurting. "Let's eat and drink and have fun with our friends, and very soon we will have our wedding night."

Cullen's answer was another deep kiss and to sweep her into dance once again, their love shining brighter than gold.


	27. Chapter 27

Elya was giggly. She spun around with Merrill and Cole, making up funny little hopping steps to the fast tempo of a drum. Leaning against the railing, Cullen had a grin on his face, his hair burnished by the setting sun.

It had been hours, and she had loved every second of it. She and Cullen had danced so much that he had laughingly begged for a break, watching her and chatting with some of the crew. After their ceremony, there had been the initial dancing and eating, then the party slowing down to conversation until Isabela had the sails set right. Then she had ordered out the 'big guns', as she had called it. Casks of a dark liquid Cullen had steered her clear from, and bottles of a light crisp liquid. Cider, Isabela had said, from apples. And it made her giggly.

When she had been a debutant first making her bows to Society, she had had plenty of wine and champagne. That was just what one drank during the nightly dinners and parties. Invariably, champagne would give her a headache the next day, and she had stuck to only having a glass or two. Wine was so common to an aristocrat's life that she had gotten bored with it. Since leaving that life behind, though, she had avoided alcohol entirely. A woman alone and friendless could not afford to be helpless… nor could she afford to be attractive. Yet, today, here she was. In this dress, married to Cullen, and she couldn't feel more beautiful or carefree, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

Their Mabari, gorged on the 'accidental' droppings of the crew, pushed himself into their circle, hopping around and chuffing happily. His large paws were always carefully tucked away from Elya's borrowed dress, the lovely puppy knowing to not ruin the delicate fabric. Distracted from her previous activity of dancing, Elya crouched down to rub at his stout head. "Who's my lovely boy? Huh? Who's the best doggy?"

Like the gentleman she knew he was, he resisted licking her face, instead barking happily once before enthusiastically cleaning her hands. She scratched behind his pointed ears, setting his tail to wagging furiously. "Such a smart puppy should have a smart name, shouldn't he?"

Cole suddenly was at her side, crouched down and joining her. "Eager. Confused. Hurt. Alone. He needed a friend. Healing. So I showed him the path." The boy's blue eyes were hazy, looking beyond what was right in front of him.

Elya licked her lips, her mind too pleasantly drifting to fully understand what he was saying. But it confirmed what she and Cullen had thought. Cole had been working in the shadows again, bringing animals to her.

A silly thought occurred to her, made her giggle once more. She looked up to her husband, thrilling as she called him that in her mind. With a dazzling smile, she waved him over. His eyebrows rose in inquiry, but he immediately pushed away, slipping through the dancers to reach her side. One hand landed on her back, and Elya shivered, distracted by the heat radiating from him. She leaned in when he settled, sighing happily, breathing deeply the scent of salt air and Cullen. Delicious. She nuzzled her nose into his neck, closing her eyes as she rested against him. One hand crept up to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt just over his heart.

This morning she had woken up to his scent. Had noticed it before anything else. She could quickly get used to that. And the pleasant soreness she had felt, a heated reminder of what they had done during the night. Another giggle bubbled from her lips.

"Elya?" Cullen had his arm around her waist now, holding her steady as she practically rested all her weight against him. He cleared his throat once, "Did you need something?"

"Oh!" She jerked upright, suddenly remembering her idea. It was a good thing Cullen had a grip on her, otherwise her abrupt movement would have toppled her. "The Mabari! I think we should name him Cole! 'Cause of Cole!"

The Mabari tilted his head at the same time Cole spoke up. "He can't be Cole! I'm Cole!"

Elya twisted unsteadily, Cullen silently laughing as he almost fell himself. He quickly righted them, planting his knees on either side of Elya's body and bringing her body flush to his chest. His hands lingered as they drifted across her waist, and Elya shivered. But she wouldn't be distracted. "He can be Cole too. He needs a name; we can't just keep calling him Mabari. I feel bad enough that Dog has to be Dog!" She waggled her finger in Hawke's direction.

"He has a name! And it isn't Cole." The boy nodded emphatically, the brim of his hat flopping. The Mabari barked, sitting down abruptly and puffing out his chest.

Elya felt Cullen's surprise, and she put her hands down, clutching to his thighs. "What is it?" She leaned forward, her bottom pressing to the solid body behind her as her shoulders left his chest. Cullen tensed, no doubt just as excited to know their dog's name.

"It's Scamper!" Cole cried in frustration, "He doesn't walk when he can play. His name is Scamper."

Elya laughed, reaching for Scamper and playfully jostling his head, "Scamper is a scamp! I like your name! Scamper puppy."

Cullen kept one arm around her waist, petting the coarse brown fur in long sweeps. "Scamper," Cullen's chest rumbled against her back, and she shivered again, loving the feeling of being surrounded by her husband. "An appropriate name for such a happy hound." He sounded proud; Elya remembered how much Fereldans loved their Mabaris. No doubt he was pleased to have one of his own. He was so very Fereldan sometimes.

Elya sighed happily again, giggling as she shifted in Cullen's arms. She wanted to turn and wrap her hands around his neck, but her dress and the press of his body was hampering her movements. So she just replaced her hands on his thighs, wiggling closer to him. Because of his kneeling position, the muscles beneath her hands were flexed, hard, and she remembered his heat. Remembered strength beneath her hands and silken muscle. She hummed, slowly slipping her hands down along his outer thighs before dragging them back up, marveling at each ridge.

Suddenly she was ready to be alone with her husband. The party was fun, but now she wanted kisses. She turned enough to whisper throatily into his ear, "Husband, can we go back to our cabin?"

She felt his heavy sigh. "Thank the Maker," he muttered, then said to their Mabari, "Scamper, excuse us for one more night." The animal looked at them with sad eyes, but Elya swore she could see a twinkle in them.

Swiftly Cullen stood, pulling Elya to her feet. She wobbled and giggled, and Cullen swept her up, an arm around her back another under her knees. The bride's carry.

"Captain!" He called above the music and noise. Isabela whipped her head around, a smirk quickly spreading over her lips. "Thank you for the party, but we will be disappearing now." And with that he turned and headed for the doors.

Elya felt her swift blush adding a pink tinge to her cheeks and buried her face against Cullen's chest, but she couldn't help but laugh. Raucous calls and whistles followed them, but she didn't mind. She even heard a few dog barks, Scamper giving his blessings along with everyone else.

Moments later they were shut in their cabin, the noise of the party distant and faded as she smiled at Cullen. "Husband," she said lowly, in awe.

The light in the sky was faded orange, just enough to keep the cabin lit. Cullen held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. With a little spin, Cullen turned her back to him, stepping close. His fingers brushed the laces of the dress, and he carefully started to undo them. "Wife," he breathed into her ear, and she wasn't so giggly any more.

Deliberately, slowly, Cullen pulled on the laces, loosening her dress. Elya shivered, feeling the intent in the air between them, hearing his forced slow breaths. Her dress gaped as he went, and with the last pull, it slumped on her body. Cullen smoothed his hands onto the bare skin of her back, over her shoulders and caught the sleeves. Remembering his promise to Hawke to be careful with the dress, she felt her heart ache happily. Cullen was being so considerate. He brought the dress down, over her hips and her plain undergarments. She bit her lip as she looked at them, wishing that her sensible clothing was a bit more seductive for their wedding night.

"Step free," his voice was husky and she quickly obeyed him. Once away from the layers of chiffon, Cullen picked the dress up and placed it out of the way. Then he turned his eyes to her. The hot promise in the amber depths made her shiver, clasp her arms over her chest. She was slightly startled to realize that her nipples were already beaded, the friction of her chemise sending a thrill through her.

He stared at her a long moment before he shook his head. "I love you, Elya." He strode to her, taking her in his arms before kissing her softly, deeply. "I haven't said that enough today."

She wound her arms around his shoulders, playing with the curls that tickled his neck. "I don't think I will ever be able to hear you say that enough." She stood up on her toes and kissed him back, trying to match the skill he seemed to melt her with so easily. "I love you too, my darling. The party was fun, but now you are all I want."

He kissed her back, pouring everything into the play of lips and tongue, hands moving gently up and down her back. Elya brought her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, trembling slightly at the foreign feeling of helping him to undress. They went slowly, Cullen giving her room to find her courage. When the material finally parted, Elya sighed and planted her hands against his chest, feeling the quickening of his heartbeat.

"Elya," he spoke between kisses, brushing back a lock of hair that had, unsurprisingly, fallen from the elegant upsweep, "are you… are you sore at all? From what we did yesterday?" His fingers gently removed flowers and pins, her hair falling down her back.

She blinked and then blushed, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I am a little," she confessed and licked her lips. "But… I don't want to stop. I want to be with you."

Cullen captured her lips in a deeper kiss, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to tangle, coax. Elya responded immediately, feeling the sparks of heat sliding through her skin. Her chest pressed against his, the thin layer of her chemise doing little to negate his heat. He pulled away slightly and groaned, "You taste of apples and honey."

Elya's lips curled wickedly, and she remembered the idea she had with the honey. Hopefully sometime soon she could suggest such a brazen idea. Cullen stared down at her lips, and gripped her tighter, kissing her with the hunger they both could feel stirring in their bodies. Against her stomach she could feel Cullen getting harder and she grew warmer and damper between her thighs.

With a low groan, Cullen swept her up into his arms again, crossing the small space to lay her out on the bed. The dizzy rush brought back her giggles, but just until she saw the blaze of his eyes as he stepped back to look at her. "You said I didn't have to be careful with these," his voice full of dark promise. He skimmed the backs of his fingers against where her nipples pressed against the fabric, and Elya shivered.

"They are old, and I have more," Elya whispered distractedly, Cullen's repeated brushes making it hard for her to focus on anything else.

Cullen shrugged out of his open shirt and climbed onto the bed. "In that case…" He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her pantalettes, jerking them off her body in an instant. Then Cullen was back, his large hands at the thin straps of her chemise, ripping them in two. Elya heard the fabric give, a little gasp leaving her. It was surprisingly arousing, him tearing away her clothing. With a sweep, he pulled the torn cloth over her head, and she was exposed to him.

Cullen caught her lips in a kiss, hungrily tasting her. Elya wrapped her hands around his shoulders, embarrassed to be so exposed but liberated as well. Cullen trailed a heated path down to her ear, "I can't hurt my bride on our wedding night; I must make sure you are prepared for me." He caught her lobe between his teeth, a sharp little tug that made her arch up from the bed, pressing her chest against his. "Trust me, Elya, I will make you feel good."

Her heart throbbed, still unbelieving that she was his bride. Her lips trembled and she quickly said, "Of course I trust you. I love you."

A scorching kiss blanked her mind, Cullen's hands sweeping up and down her body. His calloused thumbs caressing against the sensitive underside of her breasts, lingered along her waist before easing down to curl around her thighs. He broke their kiss and Elya made a disappointed sound, her lashes fluttering open to see what he was doing.

He filled her vision, so large and present there was nothing but him. The dark heat on his face as he looked at her, his broad shoulders and trim waist. He was hard, trapped and pressed against his trousers, but Cullen made no move to take them off. Instead he seemed solely focused on her, a heady rush she felt all through her. He dipped his head to her breast, shifting his body down, down. His tongue flicked out and caught at one nipple, then the other, and she moaned as she felt the wet heat arrow down to her core. She felt dampness well, instinctively trying to press her thighs together.

Cullen's darkened gaze rose to meet her eyes, and he deliberately repeated his tonguing, only this time he pulled her thighs apart baring her to the air. A blush swiftly bloomed over her cheeks, but she took a deep breath and relaxed, letting the tenseness in her body release. Cullen's lips curled, "That's it, love. Good girl."

Elya let out a shuddering sigh, her heart racing. Who knew praise could be so intoxicating? Cullen continued to whisper words of approval and continued to kiss down her body. Her stomach clenched, so aware of each press of his velvety lips, of his fingers slightly digging into her thighs. She sucked in a startled breath when he kissed her belly button and still continued to move down.

A firm brush of fingers against her curls made her jerk, still so unused to the sensations of anyone touching her there. "Relax," Cullen breathed against the thin skin of her hip, "I will take care of you."

"Oh," she jumped at the first firm touch, caressing her lower lips. Up and down he moved, applying a little more pressure each time, until he reached her wetness. She moaned, eyes shutting as more heat circled. She felt damp against his fingers, and as he kept moving them she felt more forming, eager. His breaths were hot and heavy against her skin, sending flushes skating up and down her spine. It was glorious, and she parted her thighs, wanting more.

"Good girl," Cullen groaned, "but still not wet enough." And then Elya felt the unmistakable lick of his tongue along with his fingers.

"Cullen," she gasped, her fingers twining in the sheets. But he wasn't done. He caressed her bud with a gliding pass, and the pleasure that blanked her mind for a moment made her jerk, then lift herself back to his lips. Cullen's low laugh echoed in the cabin, mingling with her own gasping noises; noises she couldn't stop from leaving her open mouth.

He worked her, making her moan and gasp. His fingers pumped inside her, mimicking what they had done yesterday. Until she was throbbing, constantly moving. She didn't know how long he made her moan, but she no longer felt sore; instead she felt achy, empty, and so very wet. His fingers slowly pumped in and out of her, every now and then pressing against a spot inside that would make her twist, his tongue circling around her bud before licking it hard and setting her to writhe.

"Cullen," she moaned, desperate for the peaking pleasure he had made her feel yesterday, but at the same time, "this feels so good! I'm-" He moved his fingers inside her again, and she arched off the sheets, thoughts scattering.

Abruptly he pulled away from her, and her eyes flew open, disappointed and yet filled with anticipation. Cullen knelt at the foot of the bed, cursing lowly as he attacked the fastenings of his trousers. Relief made her squirm, tremble. She wanted him, wanted to be connected in all ways with her husband. From the sharp hunger on Cullen's face, his rapid movements jerking his pants off, she knew he wanted the same thing.

He covered her, hot skin to hot skin, his mouth buried against her neck. She lifted her knee to his hips, wanting him to be inside her, wanted more. She threaded her fingers through his curls, tugging him up to her lips. Cullen murmured a protest, but Elya cut him off. She tasted herself, a shock, but she didn't care.

Cullen's hot length brushed against her, but he didn't try to push inside. Instead, he thrust against her lower lips, a groan breaking from his chest with the wetness he spread along his length. "Can't hurt you," he breathed, a mantra he seemed to be sticking to. He thrust again, this time along her pulsing pearl, and Elya arched, thrilling, aching.

"Hurting now," she mewled, desperate. "Please Cullen!"

Cullen lifted himself away, panting into the air between them, "Do you want me?"

Elya's eyes flew open, staring into Cullen's soul. "I want you." She looked down between their bodies, licking her lips and staring at the erotic sight of Cullen's hard member against her dark curls.

As she watched, Cullen grabbed himself and aligned against her opening. She spread her thighs more, eager for the sensation of him moving, of the fullness she remembered and wanted again. His broad head wedged against her, and Cullen's chest and stomach heaved tight, his muscles flexing gorgeously. Slowly, he pushed further in, and Elya felt that delicious friction.

Her head dropped back, eyes fluttering closed as he filled her. Cullen rumbled, his hands caught hers, fingers laced together. He pinned them above her head, devouring her mouth and seating himself fully within her. Then, he slid back out, faster, and Elya felt a quake deep inside. Rushing, already on the brink of her peak. The wonderfully wicked things he had done with his fingers and tongue made it impossible for her to resist the quick climb.

He seemed to know that, his pace picking up quickly, his hips flexing and sliding home rapidly. Elya was whimpering, twisting her body into him as much as she could while pinned down. The quake grew until she trembling, squeezing around him. Cullen cursed, felt it too, groaning. Once, twice more he thrust, and then Elya fractured.

Pleasure crowned and filled her, bursting and compounding for an age. She floated, out of her mind with the pulses that faded to a humming glow. Her husband continued to move, sending little shivers through the brilliance that lazily dissipated. Slowly she blinked and saw Cullen's face still taut, avid gaze watching her possessively, hungrily. He was still hard inside her, still moving rapidly. Elya's lips curled, and she felt powerful, sensing what she was doing to him. Her heart thumped, love filling her. "I love you," she breathed, squeezing their interlocked fingers and kissing his tense lips lingeringly. Cullen throbbed inside her, his frantic pace locking up as he peaked.

Elya delighted in watching him unravel; the teeth clenched, his entire body contracting. Sweat glazed his skin, dampened his curls. Pain and pleasure crossed his face, his eyes tightly squeezed shut and brows furrowed hard. Wet heat saturated between her thighs, her core instinctively tightening around him. Several times he flexed, groaning as he relaxed between each one. Finally he barked out a curse and collapsed onto her, his head dropping into the curve of her neck, breathing heavily and shaking.

For a long time, they were silent. Elya wore a permanent smile. When she felt his racing pulse calm somewhat, she kissed his temple and whispered. "I love being married to you."

She felt more than heard Cullen's laugh, his lips warm smiling against her skin. He lifted his head and kissed her lovingly, "I heartily agree, my wife. My Elya."


	28. Chapter 28

The next few days were easily the happiest days of Cullen's life. The crew was in good spirits from the wedding, seeing Elya and Cullen as passengers who brought adventure and fun. Scamper they accepted with open arms, having a good time pitting the two Mabaris together in races and tug-of-wars. During the day, Cullen would work with the crew on his fighting skills, giving lessons and rebuilding his strength. Elya would work on Scamper's limp, arthritis the cause. She packed herbs around his elbows, bandaging them in place. She thought for sure the dog would chew them off, but he perfectly understood her warning that if he did, he would get no table scraps for a week. The amusement in his black eyes told her he saw through her lie, but he obeyed her anyways.

They took their meals in the mess room with the crew, but their dinners in the Captain's cabin, their unexpected friendships growing deeper. Cole would join them sometimes, disappearing and reappearing at random. He still made everyone jump with surprise every time he did, but they had all accepted him. Every now and then Cullen would see him speaking to one of the crew, and the person always seemed to look better afterwards. Whatever the spirit boy was doing, he was living up to what he claimed he was.

Cullen and Elya were never far from each other's sides, and sometimes slipped away to their cabin in the middle of the day. At night, they held each other as they slept. It was Cullen's daydream, but on a ship instead of his home estate. He still couldn't believe his luck, double checking to see that Elya was still there, was still real. Sometimes he would wake and fear it had all been a dream, only to find that his wife was curled into him, her easy breathing calming his frantic pulse. He would kiss her softly on her forehead or shoulder and fall asleep with a relieved sigh.

The day after their wedding, some interesting changes started to occur around the ship. People were sent over the sides on slings; paint cans and brushes their supplies. Around the back, behind the Captain's quarters, another woman labored. At the figurehead, three people worked away. Curious, he and Elya had wandered around, watching the changes. Everyone was fast, competent, painting the yellow trim which swiftly disappeared beneath dark blue. Once the fresh paint had been allowed to dry, another coat was put over the top. This time the paint was brown, the same faded color as the wood of the boat. When completed, it looked as if the blue paint had been there for years, chipped and flaked with the wearing of work and time.

Then, there was the figurehead. A siren, to match the ship's name, her arms lifted above her head in a flowing call of seduction to passing sailors. Her tail curved down and around, the fin lifting away from the prow and dripping wooden seaweed. The siren's slightly alien features were bright, a smirk on her lips. It was a beautiful piece, and as they learned, able to be dismantled.

Carefully, the team of three lifted cleverly pieced layers of wood to reveal pegs. When the pegs were removed, blocks of wood could be slid away and lifted on ropes back to the ship's deck. The siren's arms were the first things to go, followed by the fin, then the rest of her tail. Her face was lifted away next, then the front of the bare breasted torso. All these pieces were quickly stored below decks, wrapped in cloth. Then the replacements arrived. The new body was of a woman dressed in a flowing gown with sandals on her feet, the face serene but intelligent. A large tome was open and resting on the woman's splayed hands, as if she were reading the words from it aloud to an audience.

Isabela sidled up to them as they watched the curiosity avidly. When the last piece was in place, they worked the little wooden coverings over the pegs, and then the figurehead looked as if it had always been in place, as sturdy and solid as the rest of the ship.

"Now we are The Scheherazade." At Cullen and Elya's wide eyed looks, she shrugged and sauntered off. "It's easy to disappear when everyone is looking for a different boat."

Cullen felt a little off balance. In his entire career as a soldier, he had never seen the like before. Had never even heard of it. Presumably the painter over the back of the boat was replacing the name. If there was someone after the Siren's call, the differences to the ship would make anyone dismiss them. The design of the ship was common enough; there were probably thousands of its type sailing the waters of Thedas. But no one, ever, changed figureheads like this. Clever, clever woman.

Five days after their wedding, Cullen and Elya were still asleep when a knock on their door sent a heavy weight on his feet up, a scramble as a big animal quickly left the end of the bed. Frowning as he woke, Cullen scrubbed a hand across his jaw. "Yes?" He called out through a yawn. Elya shifted against him, and he smoothed a hand down her bare back, rousing in other ways as well.

"Sir, Madam, the Captain requests your presence at breakfast." The muffled voice from the other side of the door responded.

Cullen hummed lowly, focusing more on his wife than what the person was saying. "What time is it?" Elya propped herself up enough to rub at her eyes and hide her huge yawn. The dark curtain of her hair was tangled and lovely, and he brushed some away from her face, pulling her down for a slow morning kiss. Creeping heat filled his veins, giving him ideas about what to do for the next hour.

"It is eight forty, sir. The Captain says they will eat at nine." That brought a groan of frustration out of Cullen. Elya lifted her lips away, silently laughing, her pretty brown eyes twinkling. Twenty minutes and they still needed to dress.

Elya sat up and tossed, "We will be there," at the door. Cullen propped himself against the wall with a scowl; he was pouting.

Scamp stood and stretched with a large yawn, his theatrics of just now waking up making Cullen cross his arms and glare at him. "Don't get me started on you, Scamp." The dog smacked his lips innocently. The fur on the end of the quilt gave him away.

"Fine," Cullen groaned, rolling out of bed. Elya was already covering her lovely backside with a chemise, humming lightly. He couldn't help his smile; her humming constantly was a new thing he had learned about her in the past few days. When she was happy, she sang.

Washed and dressed, the three of them presented themselves to the Captain's room. Dog, looking very morose, was lying next to Hawke's chair, staring up at her and sighing. As soon as Cullen and Elya sat down, Scamper assumed the same position and tricks. He was learning bad habits.

"Well, my doves," Isabela grabbed a hot muffin from the spread on the table, "If you look at the lovely foggy weather that is greeting us this morning, you will see that we are shortly to reach Ferelden."

Halfway into a bite of ham, Cullen startled, looking out the bank of windows. They too had been changed with the ships transformation, boards blocking most of the costly glass. But from the smaller array, he was surprised to see the blue-grey of familiar weather. It was true; they were almost to the coast.

"Within a few hours we should be close enough to anchor," Hawke reported. "Our… enterprises require darkness and for us to travel further down the coast, but this first port would be a better place for you to disembark." She slipped a piece of toast to her starving Mabari, gone with one quick gobble.

"Oh," Elya said quietly, probably feeling just as stunned as he was. Of course they had known that soon they would reach their destination, but the cocoon of happiness they had been basking in had pushed it out of their minds. He reached out and clasped her hand, squeezing gently. Elya looked at the three women around her, sad. "I will miss you all."

Merrill bound from her chair and hugged her hard. "We will miss you too!" Elya wrapped an arm around her waist, blinking quickly.

"You will see each other again," Cole's voice pipped up from where he had appeared on the bed, making them all jump.

After a moment to adjust, Hawke smiled and nodded. "I agree; if not out at sea, then on land. It has been a long time since I traveled in Ferelden. Maybe it will be time soon to visit my home country." She smiled at her wives, "Maybe as an extended honeymoon."

Isabela snapped her fingers, "Speaking of honeymoons." She rose and crossed to a table, carefully collecting up a bundle of papers, and then passed them to Elya. "Here are the documents for your marriage." He and Elya had signed them during the party, but since they had sprung their marriage on the Captain, she had not had time to finish all the official paperwork beforehand. "When you reach a town large enough, make sure to file that with the right people."

Elya looked up at Cullen, a hint of confusion in her eyes. He smiled, reading what she was worried about. "I know where to go." Elya passed him the papers and he tucked it into his jacket. "I will keep them safe."

"Now, we have just a few hours to enjoy our time together. Let us eat!" Cole snagged a chair and brought it to the table, picking at the fruit lightly. The air in the room had sadness in it, but they ate and talked normally, comfortable with each other. Breakfast was consumed slowly, and they lingered over cups of coffee and tea, each person loathe to break up the party.

Finally Isabela sighed and pushed back from the table. "Well, there is much to be done to prepare for nightfall. And you two will need to pack."

Cullen and Elya rose as well, the air deepening again. Elya gave hugs to the others in the room, Cullen bowing deeply over each ladies hand, ruffling the hat on Cole's head. Then he and Elya headed to their cabin.

They had little to pack; most of what they brought onto the ship would go with them. The wedding dress had been returned, carefully, and Elya had a new day dress from Merrill. Their wedding mirror was carefully wrapped and stored in one of their bags, surrounded by more clothing. The two candlesticks were wrapped and placed in the other. And then that was it. Everything else they had was borrowed.

Well, not quite everything. As Elya bustled around, tidying, Cullen lifted the mattress and pulled out the wicked list of names. He sat down heavily, staring silently at the packet for a long while.

He had allowed himself to forget. Harper, Harris, Blackwall, Hagman. Young Perkins. Dead, run through by unforgiving steel and left in an unfriendly country, never to be buried properly. While he sat here, somehow married to the woman he loved, and all because of this damned note and his stupidity in not seeing what Samson was. Basking in Elya's love, he had pushed away the pain of their deaths, forgetting so he wouldn't have to think of them.

Anguish, self-hatred, guilt, anger. He closed his eyes, jaw clenched against the tightness of his throat. A sheen of moisture threatened his eyes, and he fought to stop himself. He had so much now; how could he be so happy when so many were dead?

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, Elya coming to stand before him. He heard a rustle of fabric, her hand running down his arm to grasp his forearm, and her lilting voice told him she had knelt between his knees. "Cullen?"

He swallowed hard, fighting against himself. Opening his eyes he looked into her worried face, Elya's gentle and compassionate nature evident in every line. "My men…" he croaked, not caring that he was being so vulnerable with her. With whom else besides his love would he be able to talk to about this? "I… let myself forget them. It was so painful… and easier to just…"

"Oh my darling," Elya whispered, instantly standing and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Cullen crushed her against him, burying his face in her sweetness. For long moments they stayed as they were. Elya ran trembling fingers through his hair, silent support he soaked in as he saw their faces behind his tightly closed eyes.

Finally he let out a shuddering sigh, and Elya pressed a kiss to his brow. "Grieve for them, my love. Honor their memories." She was solemn yet full of calm conviction. "But they would not want you to sink into despair. They know, as I know, you will not stop till you complete your mission and find the one responsible."

Cullen nodded once. He would. He would deliver the coded list to the Commander, and then he would find the traitor in their midst. And when he was done, he and Elya would retire to a quiet life on their estate. He no longer considered the fact he would die in his tasks; leaving Elya alone would not be an option. He had a new purpose in life: making her happy.

Abruptly he lifted her, her startled cry making him smile a little, and fell onto his back. He turned, rolling so that she was pressed beneath him. Needing her, he kissed her slowly, his lips tender as he traced her shape, tasted the tea she had drunk at breakfast and the salt from his now falling tears. Weary of death and destruction, Cullen let himself cry. Elya brushed them away softly, somehow knowing exactly what he needed.

"When everything is over," she whispered, "maybe we could go visit their families? I know what unanswered questions do to those left behind; it would mean the world to them." The shadows of her past still lingered in her eyes, but they were lighter. Sharing her burdens, talking about her parents, had helped her.

How had he gotten so lucky to find her? He owed Cole more than he could say. He nodded and cleared his throat. "I love you," he whispered. She smiled warmly and whispered the words back to him. They made love, slow and lingering with no words needed. Cullen knew there was danger ahead still, but here in this cabin, he and his wife knew that everything would turn out right.


	29. Chapter 29

Cullen stood with an arm around Elya's waist, looking down at the small boat being lowered to the choppy water. He felt Elya gulp and shudder slightly; they both knew her sea legs were going to cause her to become motion sick once they returned to unmoving land. She was grimly resigned to the fact.

Their packs were at their feet, Scamper and Dog both despondent, knowing their playtime was over. The grey atmosphere seemed to fit everyone's mood; the shapes of dark trees, ships, and ragged building just barely visible gave a sinister cast to the golden glow of what had been their honeymoon.

"It is very sad, to be parting from friends." Merrill's pretty face was gloomy. Hawke put an arm around the elf's shoulders, squeezing her close. Her large green eyes sparkled for a moment; she fought to keep from crying.

"Remember what Cole said," Hawke murmured comfortingly, giving Cullen a half smile. "We will meet again."

Cullen forced his lips to curve, but it felt strained. Cole had said that… but no one could predict the future. Not even a spirit. He and Elya had their set of dangers; these women had a whole different lot. He looked around for Cole once more. Since breakfast, he seemed to have vanished, popping off as he did. Cullen had expected the boy to be here for their farewells, though. He wouldn't say so to Elya, but it made him itch when the minutes stretched by and Cole didn't appear. He had been expecting the boy to come with them, he realized.

Merrill's somber expression broke into a grin, just when the Captain's voice rolled over them. "Well, time for final business." Cullen turned to see her carrying a small, apparently heavy, bag with her.

Elya nodded, "Yes, of course." She stepped from Cullen's reach and withdrew the small little pouch that held her coins. "We made a bargain. Here is the money we promised you," Elya passed it over, looking slightly embarrassed with how little it contained. "And Cullen promises to speak to King Alistair for your second half of the reward."

Isabela grinned, hefting the bag before making it disappear into a pocket. "I can't wait." A decidedly mischievous twinkle appeared in her light brown eyes, and she held the bag out to Elya. "Now, this is for you two."

Elya frowned but opened the pouch. She gasped, and Cullen quickly leaned over her shoulder, looking inside. Gold. It was filled with gold.

Dozens of thin bracelets and a couple little intricately carved boxes mixed with gold coins from several countries. He gaped; how could he not? It was a small fortune. "But, no!" Elya breathlessly pushed out. "We are supposed to pay you! We can't accept this!" Cullen nodded in dumbfounded agreement.

The three women laughed, all obviously in on this surprise. "Nonsense," Isabela waved a hand. "It is for your wedding. Everyone knows that the couple are supposed to receive presents." The Captain leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "And as a pirate, I have plenty to give."

Hawke supplied, "She speaks the truth; some of us are not as gold crazy as our good Captain is."

"Please take it," Merrill begged, "It would make us so happy."

Elya glanced back at Cullen, still reeling. He shrugged and grinned. Who was he to say no? They could put the money to good use, that was certain.

Cullen bowed low to the ladies before him. "We thank you. In every way, you have been generous and kind." He straightened and smiled, "If, at any time in the future, you need help, don't hesitate to send us a message." He held out a small square of paper, on which he had written the address for Rutherford Hall.

Isabela took it with an easy confidence and it disappeared into the same pocket as the meager coins they had given her. "Count on it." Her smile turned bittersweet, and Cullen recognized the same thing she did. It was time.

Hawke surprised Cullen by being the first to come forward, hugging Elya hard. Her piercing blue eyes were shimmering and she was fighting hard for control. She finally stepped back and sniffed, sharing something unspoken with his wife Cullen wasn't sure he could understand. She nodded and swallowed hard, turning to him. Cullen bowed over her hand, and chuckled when she said, "Keep working on getting your shield to sit more to your left now. And strengthen your leg! You know you need to."

"Yes, Hawke." He saluted and winked, and she laughed through her sadness.

Merrill was next, forcing a bright smile to her lips and chatting a little storm. "I will write you. It might take time for the letters to get to you though. Oh! And how would you send them back? Maybe Isabela will have a place to send them? Or maybe Cole can help out." Her voice was wobbling, but she kept it light, making it seem as if it would just be a short time before they saw each other again.

Then Isabela came, and he could tell she was sad, despite the smirk she wore like a shield. He inwardly shook his head as he kissed the back of her hand. Who would have ever thought his career in the military would lead him to having friends who were admitted pirates and smugglers? Life was certainly unpredictable.

Cullen knelt to pet Dog, and the big Mabari barked at him, licking at his face. The two dogs then tussled in a mock play-fight, breaking away with Scamper licking enthusiastically at Dog's ears. Cullen frowned, sad to be breaking the friends apart. Poor Scamp, he hoped he understood the necessity of their leaving.

The sling for Scamper was in place, and with a heavy sigh, the dog went where he was told to stand. His sorrowful eyes stared around the ship as he was strapped into place. Elya repeated her method of getting onto the boat, standing on the top of the wooden frame and clutching the ropes. Cullen took a deep breath of sea air, a pang filling his chest as he looked at the disguised deck, the friends he had made. He had been happy here. It would always hold a special place for him.

He slung their bags over his back, snagging several coins from the new bag and tucked the rest safely away. He then slowly climbed down the built in ladder that went down the side. The fog and salt water made the grips slippery, but the hand holds were built for such conditions. Within a minute he was seated on the little boat, carefully watching Elya and Scamper descend.

Once securely settled in the boat, Elya sat before him, leaning into his body. She sighed heavily; Cullen knew just how she felt. He kissed the top of her head, wrapped his arms around her waist, offering comfort.

Just as their sailor started to row to shore, Isabela called down to them. "Oh, Cullen!" He looked up, Isabela leaning over the railing, a huge grin on her face. "When you talk to the King and Queen, tell them that Isabela from The Pearl sends her regards and looks forward to talking with them again!"

Cullen's mouth dropped open. The Pearl?! As in the infamous brothel in Denerim? Isabela had been there? And, for that matter, the _King_ had been there? King Alistair, the fun-loving, my-Queen-is-the-love-of-my-life-and-can-still-make-me-stammer-and-blush, had been to a brothel _with his wife_? Maker's breath, the dratted woman had waited till he was gone just to torment him with not knowing the story behind that meeting!

He grumbled with intense curiosity as Isabela's too amused laughter followed them into the fog.

* * *

Highport was a thriving port town, connected as it was to the Teyrnir Highever. With the Queen coming from the Cousland line, there had been a surge in commerce all around the area. _The Scheherazade_ was not the only large ship in anchor, and there were dozens of smaller vessels at dock as well. The war was making everyone uneasy, though. Patrols of military boats moved freely around the harbor and a warship sat ready for attack.

Cullen had worried about this, worried about being questioned. As his journey to Orlais had been highly secretive, Cullen didn't have the appropriate papers on him. Neither did Elya. There might be a probability that one of the officials would recognize him and what his real authority was, but the chance was slim. However, Isabela had waved away his concern. Apparently there was some sort of… understanding. And their escort had been given his own heavy pouch. Cullen pushed aside the concern; bribes would help him today. Later he would worry about the holes in their security. Getting to the Commander was the most important thing at this point.

The sounds of a bustling town broke through the fog, calls and cries of wares, chatter, rowdy music from one of the dockside taverns. Elya looked around constantly, taking in sights she hadn't seen for many years. The docked ships were unloading goods, tough labourers hauling on ropes that connected with nets filled with barrels or crates. Newspaper peddlers calling about the war mixed with vendors offering fish, cheap exotic goods, questionable cooked meat. A troop of what looked to be new recruits boasted and bragged and swaggered around. Cullen eyed them critically; they were young and untried. Their uniforms too clean, weapons too polished. A few veterans were intermixed, their eyes darkened, quiet and grim. They were off to the front lines, he guessed, and none of them would remain unmarked from battle.

Elya interlaced her fingers with his, squeezing his hand tightly. Slightly startled he looked down to see that she was looking at the soldiers as well, sadness lurking in her eyes. He realized he had tightened his hold on her, pressing her to his chest. She knew, knew what he had been feeling. He swiftly dropped a kiss to her temple just as their sailor shelved his oars to glide into the dock.

When they tapped against the dock, Cullen hopped out and helped to tie the boat in place. Their escort nodded in thanks, and strode down the dock to where an Official waited at the ramp to land. Keeping one eye on him while lifting the bags out, Cullen saw an brief exchange of words, the sailor passing a folded letter. The Official read it without a hint of emotion, pocketed it, then wrote a on the book in front of him. The sailor nodded and stealthily exchanged the coin pouch, and then walked away. If Cullen hadn't been watching, he would never have seen the exchange.

"Should we be worried?" Elya asked lowly; she had also seen, but she wore that cool mask of polite interest she had been trained to wear as a lady of the nobility. Culle felt a bubble of pride pressing his chest. No matter her birth or background, she was a true lady.

Cullen reached down to help her from the boat, and with a little rocking, she stood and accepted his hand. Within moments she was safely on the dock next to him and when he had placed the bags on his back, she slipped her arm through his offered one. Cullen spoke quietly, "No, I think not. Just as our passage was all arranged, so it seems Isabela is taking care of us once again."

The sailor came back and bowed to them. "Pleased to have had you on board," he said in the flat tones of a Free Marcher, "Can't remember the last time we had such fun on a crossing." The man grinned, then swiftly cast off and was gone, rowing back to his ship. Silently, Cullen cast a prayer to the Maker, eyes trained on the very faint outlines of i _The Scheherazade/i_. May their covert dealings remain hidden.

"I hope Cole is right," Elya whispered, "That we will see them again. And in happy circumstances." Scamper whined softly, eyes trained on the little boat disappearing into the fog. Elya's bow of a mouth curved into a melancholy smile, and she softly scratched behind his ears. "I know boy, I know."

Cullen released a heavy sigh. "Well, it is time to go. We have a long way to travel still."

Elya squared her shoulders and whispered, "Yes. If only the ground would stop moving." Cullen chuckled and patted her hand. Poor darling was going to be nauseous for several days.

They made their unhurried way down the dock, the Official looking up and nodding to them in a disinterested away, the perfect study of bored routine. Cullen nodded back politely, inwardly making a note. The man was too good at this deceit; did Cullen bring it up to the King and leave Isabela in a potentially dangerous position? Yet this man could be letting in any number of enemies. He had to say something. He swallowed his anger; he was ready to be done with this work, the duality of making decisions that would forever alter people's lives. He wanted his simple country life.

They headed inland, Cullen having been in Highport before and knowing where they needed to go. The seedier waterfront buildings gradually led to a more respectable area, catering to merchants and the working class. If one traveled even further in you would get to the areas that catered to the Couslands and other nobility, but it was too distinctive for what they needed. Plus, Cullen had errands to run in this part of the town before they departed.

Their destination was a respectable and notable inn, The White Lance, its clientele mostly those traveling long distances. The coaching inn always had carriages and good horses available, and that was what they needed.

Now that they were in Ferelden, speed was more important than secrecy on their part. He had been prepared to hire two horses to travel to Redcliffe, but he knew that Elya traveling with him would draw attention. It was unusual to see a woman traveling on horseback all day, she would be remembered, not to mention her years away from the saddle. But their funds would not have allowed anything else. Yet with Isabela's generosity, they could now afford to be swift, secretive, and more comfortable.

The entered the moderately busy inn just after lunch, the public coaches calling their occupants to board or be left behind. The innkeeper saw their arrival, his practiced gaze sweeping over them and deeming them to be of marginal importance. He was polite but disinterested, summoning a maid to lead them to the private parlor Cullen requested. The man raised an interested brow at Scamper, but didn't make any comment. Cullen almost smiled; they were in Ferelden after all.

Once shut away, Elya settled gratefully into a chair, one hand flying to her forehead as she breathed deeply. Cullen sank to his heels, frowning at her ashy pallor. "Is it impossible, my love?" He ached seeing her like this, wished he didn't have to push her so hard while she was sick.

A wane smile touched her lips, "No, it isn't nearly as bad as when we first boarded the ship." She took another deep breath. "It will just take time."

Cullen stood and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry we cannot stay and let you adjust."

Her dark eyes blinked open, understanding and warmth blazing from them. "I don't want that. I want you to be safe." She didn't elaborate more, knowing full well the chance of being overheard. "I will be perfectly alright."

Cullen frowned but could see that she was determined not to impose. "Very well. I must arrange our carriage, and make a few purchases. Perhaps you could order us a cold luncheon? I know you are probably not going to want to eat much, but perhaps some hot tea would help your stomach? I should be no more than an hour, at which time our carriage should be ready."

"Tea," she breathed reverently, a little pink returning to the sienna brown hue of her cheeks. "That sounds heavenly."

"And maybe something for Scamp, too?" The Mabari, thoroughly investigating the smells of the room let out an agreeing bark. Cullen smiled and crossed to the door. "I will return shortly, darling. And Elya, do try to eat something. Ferelden cheese is particularly memorable." The face she made had him chuckling as he headed out to his tasks.


	30. Chapter 30

The tea did help, Elya sighed in relief, slowly sipping on her third cup. The now nonexistent movement of the ship still stayed with her, made her feel off balance and constantly shift back and forth. A vague sense of nausea kept her from eating much of the spread of cold meats and cheeses awaiting Cullen's return, but she had managed to down a piece of buttered toast. It had been like ash in her mouth, but the hot and dark tea had helped wash it down.

Scamper had eaten as well; the landlord had provided a large bowl of some sort of meal for the Mabari, seemingly knowing already what the dog would need. Scamper had made pleased sounds as he devoured it. Apparently dogs were not uncommon here.

The sound of heavy but quick steps up the stairs made Elya look to the door, and she was not surprised when Cullen entered. Her relief must have been reflected in her smile, for he gave her a reassuring grin. "Our carriage is almost ready. And," He crossed to her side, holding up two parcels, "I come bearing gifts!"

Elya blinked, "Presents?" He deposited a small paper wrapped gift, and the other was unmistakably a hatbox. Cullen leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, letting out a small sigh. She turned to look at him, a small frown knitting her brow. "Is everything alright?" She hadn't been too terribly worried about him while he had been out, he was quite skilled at being covert, but she also hadn't been able to stop herself from worrying completely either.

He sank down into the chair next to her, reaching for a plate and piling on vast amounts of food. "Yes, things are well." He paused in his selection and locked his gaze with hers, his eyes heating to molten honey, an answering warmth rising in her chest. "I just disliked leaving you alone while there is still danger."

"Cullen," she breathed, unconsciously leaning forward.

A snap of desire flared in his eyes, but his grin turned lighthearted, belying the tension that had sprung up again. "Open your gifts, and I will eat. Then we must be off quickly." He quickly popped several slices of cheese into his mouth, and Elya chuckled.

"Very well, if you insist," she turned her attention back to her awaiting parcels. She first peeled away the paper from smaller, revealing kid gloves. "Oh," she exclaimed, delighted. She swiftly turned to the hatbox, pulling the ribbons away and lifting the lid. Inside was a simple straw chip bonnet with a wide white ribbon and single white rose adorning it.

She stood and crossed to the mirror, arranging the bonnet over her hair. Cullen had chosen well, she thought, the simple style elegant and complimentary. She tied the ribbon into a jaunty bow, turning to show off his choice. "Thank you, Cullen. It is beautiful."

A soft smile played over his lips, turned as he was to watch her. "I thought it would suit you."

Elya laced her fingers with his, "What ever made you think of buying me these?"

He spoke gently, "I know you are nervous about meeting my family. I thought that having this would help ease some of your worries."

Elya's heart melted all over again, "Oh Cullen, that is so very thoughtful of you." She lifted his hand to her cheek, leaning into his palm. She thought she had been hiding her trepidation fairly well. She was nervous about the impression she would make; a fallen woman who had hastily married their brother. It did help her composure to have a bonnet and gloves. Society women never ventured out of doors without wearing these necessities; before she had left Ferelden, Elya had followed the strict rules exactly. It was a small thing, but it helped boost her confidence greatly. She sniffed, "You are a wonderful husband."

"And you are a darling wife," He smiled and caressed his thumb across her cheek. He then looked at the brim of her bonnet and muttered under his breath, "Though I think I could learn to hate your bonnets."

Elya shook her head in confused amusement. "Why?"

Cullen sighed and dropped his hand, "Nevermind it now. We need to be off."

He resumed eating just as there was a knock on the door, and a servant entered with a bob, "Your carriage is ready, Sir, Ma'am."

"Thank you," Elya cut in, as Cullen's mouth was full. "We will be down shortly." The man left with another quick movement.

Between Cullen and the ever hungry Scamper, the meal was finished and they were down in the bustling courtyard. Cullen set their meager belongings inside a closed carriage, one that looked to be in good care but not particularly expensive or well-sprung. Cullen handed Elya up inside, Scamper scrambling in after her. Cullen spoke to their driver in quiet tones, then he slipped inside, closed the door, and they were off.

Elya's prediction had been correct. While in the busy town, the carriage moved slowly and wasn't too bad, but as soon as they reached the open roads of the countryside, their ride was constantly bumpy. It was a jittery, jolting movement, one that was different from ocean travel, but still enough to make her glad she had not had anything more than toast to eat. She kept her eyes closed, breathing deeply of the cool air from the partially opened window. Cullen knew how she was feeling and didn't try to keep up a conversation, so she just rested against the meager cushions as the hours went by.

In the evening they stopped to change horses, intent on riding through the night. She was feeling remarkably better; still slightly nauseous, but she thought maybe being adjusted to water travel was helping her. They took a short break for supper, Elya mostly drinking calming cups of tea but managed to eat some of her stew. Cullen, lucky man that he was, devoured his meal.

Scamper, however, fared even worse than she did. When it came time to re-enter the coach, Scamper flatly refused to jump up inside. With some coaxing, both on the dog's side and the driver's side, he was persuaded to sit outside next to the coachman. Hopefully the arrangement would work a bit better for the big dog.

Inside the carriage, a lantern lit up the confines, and Elya had to admit that it was more pleasant to not have Scamper's dog scent with them. She leaned back and sighed, covering a deep yawn.

"I'm sorry for not stopping for the night," Cullen's voice was full of remorse. "I just think it would be better to gain distance from anyone who may have taken note of us."

Elya smiled and shook her head, "It is alright. Besides," amusement crept into her voice, "we have slept in far more uncomfortable conditions before."

Cullen shuddered dramatically as they both remembered their cold, wet, and outdoor on the ground nights during their journey to the Orlesian coast. "Yes, this is practically luxurious compared to then."

A seductive smile played slowly over Cullen's lips, his scar casting a spell over her. "Plus, there are other advantages now." His voice had dropped, husky and heat and like a moth to a flame, Elya slid into his arms. Her heart started to race, desire rising at the look in his eyes. She pressed her breasts against his chest, lifting her face for his kiss and closing her eyes.

Instead of his lips though, she heard him curse. Startled, her eyes popped open to see him glaring at her bonnet. "I knew it," he growled, his fingers already working at the bow beneath her chin. "I can't kiss you properly when you are wearing one of these Fade-cursed things."

Elya laughed as he tossed her bonnet onto the far bench, but then he was kissing her, hungry lips roving and tasting. She moaned, following his lead. Since their wedding, this had been their longest stretch of time since making love, and she didn't want to wait any longer. In the passion fogged recesses of her mind, she wondered if she should be embarrassed about where they were, but she brushed it away. She realized she didn't care. What would her prim and proper seventeen year old Society self had to say to that?

Cullen's broad hands caressed over her back, clutching her shoulders to pull her against him harder. Clumsily she removed her gloves and her hand slipped between them, working on the buttons of his jacket, pulling at his shirt. She sighed when her fingertips reached warm skin, relishing the silken feel mixed with the roughness of his too myriad scars. She knew them all, had traced and kissed them all, and now, in a way, they were her's as well. She had claimed them; she had claimed him.

Cullen's hand landed on her calf, sliding beneath her rouched skirt as he slowly glided up her skin. She gasped and wiggled, goosebumps breaking out over her skin, hazily wondering how they were going to remove all their clothing. Cullen's lips left hers, tracing down her neck and biting at her collarbone, and she jolted from her thoughts and forgot to worry about it.

His calloused palm smoothed up the inside of her thigh, and she quivered, moving her knees up and apart, panting her invitation against his ear. The first brush of his fingers against her lower lips made her shiver, the second firmer brush made her mewl and sink her fingers into his hair, her mouth to his. Confidently, Cullen sank a finger into her, groaning as he quickly made her wet. Elya released her gasps into his mouth, catching his lower lip in her teeth when he sank another finger inside.

He knew now what made her moan, how to touch her, just as she knew how to touch him. He pumped into her slowly, gathering speed until she was arching back into his hand, rubbing her confined breasts against his chest. Before she got too far though, he held his fingers deeply inside her while thumbing at the bundle of nerves at her cleft. She moaned and writhed, loving the feel, but it wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't.

Leaving his curls, her hands quickly sank down where his was straining his trousers. She cupped him, fondling the rigid length in a few strokes before cupping the heavy stones beneath. He barked out a curse. "Elya," He panted, and she lazily opened her eyes to meet his molten ones, "Pull me free."

Her lips curled, just as he fluttered his fingers inside her, making her mind blank and loudly gasp. Thank the Maker the carriage made so much clattering noise.

Abruptly, she needed him inside her. She fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, pulling them open and jerking them down. Somehow her gown gaped, her breasts spilling from the loosened neckline. The cool air made her already tightened nipples bead, and Cullen moaned, dropping down to suckle them into his hot mouth.

She grasped his shaft, pumping her hand up and down, feeling his hips thrust up. Cullen's fingers left her core, sliding around to cup her bottom, and he helped her slide down onto his cock.

Elya gasped at the fit, sitting all the way down with him firmly wedged inside of her. This was a new position for her, and she wasn't necessarily sure what to do. But, the carriage's rough passage was providing an unlooked for stimulation; she could feel the rumbling ride as vibrations inside her. She gasped, instantly more aroused, writhing on Cullen. He felt it too, a deep groan that shivered through the space.

Both his hand burrowed beneath her skirt, fingers digging into her plush bottom. He helped her find a rhythm, a rocking motion that rose her up against his chest and down to sit on him firmly. Elya felt wild, wanton, a little out of control, but Cullen was too. He was holding her harder than he normally did, perhaps leaving little bruises. His mouth dropped to her peaked breasts again, sucking hard and sharp, worrying her nipples with his teeth. Elya held onto his waist, her nails biting into his skin with each thrust down. She panted into his ear, knowing how much he loved the little noises he made her groan out, and caught his lobe with her teeth and tongue.

He felt larger this way, with both of them sitting, and even though he was guiding their speed, she also felt more in control, more powerful. Each roll of her hips, her snap down on his length increased their pressure. The random movements of the carriage added to the excitement, and she was fast approaching her peak of bliss.

"Oh Maker," she panted, moving even faster. The carriage hit a rut just as she was coming down, causing her to tense and the thrust hit even harder. Cullen cried out against her skin, and she felt him explode, his seed shooting into her hotly. It was enough to trigger her own orgasm, and she shook as her desire splintered, her scream muffled into his neck.

Lethargically, Elya slowly came back to herself, slumped against Cullen. She slowly realized that she could fall asleep just as she was, except she was too sensitive. Each movement of the carriage sent a shiver through her, and she groaned uncomfortably. Cullen, Andraste bless him, seemed to feel it too, for he murmured in protest, but slowly lifted her off of his semi-hardness.

Sleepily she helped him clean themselves up, feeling more than a bit uncoordinated. Usually she did not feel as exhausted as she did now; something to do with her motion sickness? Without too much effort, though, they were somewhat presentable. Cullen pulled out one of the coach blankets and draped it over her shoulders before he again propped himself in the corner. Instead of straddling him this time, he settled her across his lap and she snuggled into his shoulder. "I love you," she yawned, "but I do hope we will get to sleep in a real, completely unmoving, bed soon."

Cullen chuckled lowly, "Yes, my darling, I hope so too." He kissed her with a lingering gentleness, and Elya was asleep before he had lifted his head.


	31. Chapter 31

The carriage rattled through the streets of Redcliffe, heading for a fashionable but modest part of town. Elya sat with ramrod perfect posture, her bonnet in place, gloved hands folded perfectly in her lap. She was staring intently out the window, but Cullen was sure she wasn't seeing a thing. She was tense, and she was slightly ashy beneath her sienna tone.

A heavy swelling of love pressed his chest, and he silently reached over and took her hand. She was nervous, almost terrified, about meeting his family. With their constant travel the past three days and little rest, she was stretched to her breaking point. Yet it was the fact that she would be meeting his sisters that was leeching the color from her skin. She tore her gaze from the street, eyes too wide. Cullen squeezed her hand reassuringly, smiling slightly. "They will love you."

Elya swallowed hard, blinked rapidly a couple times and took a breath. But there was no release in her strain. He kept his grin from rising; she was too adorable.

Just a short time later, they stopped. Cullen opened the carriage door immediately, not waiting for a footman to come down. He groaned as he stood, subtly stretching. His hip ached. He wasn't going to say anything to Elya, but the constant rattling had resonated in his wound, the tissue still healing. Tonight, he would tell her; now there was not enough time to do anything about it.

Scamper instantly jumped from the driver's seat, giving a whining groan as he leaned back into his hindlegs, yawning and arching away his own stiffness. His puppy dog eyes stared pitifully up at Cullen, a silent beg that he wouldn't have to return to the cold, sometimes wet, and always uncomfortable journey. "We are here, Scamp. No more travel for us." The soft bark he got in response held definite relief.

Cullen turned and held out his hand, and Elya stepped down, her eyes deep and dark as she stared at the creamy townhouse before her. Scamper came to her side, leaning his weight against her in comfort. Mia's home with her husband, Mr. Richards, wasn't grand or ostentatious; bright flowers lined the windows and colorful curtains were thrown open to let in light. He imagined that the residence Elya had been living in when she had her come-out would have been much more imposing. Since she had been staying with her uncle the Ambassador, she would have been in one of the costliest districts. Yet she was staring as if she were to meet the King himself. A small smile touched his lips; which, she would be meeting King Alistair soon enough. Cullen tucked Elya's too cold hand into his elbow and escorted her up the threshold.

The door opened, and Mia's butler, Winston, blinked at Cullen for a second before reacting. "Sir Cullen," he intoned, a hint of surprise not quite disguised. The man's eyes swept to Elya and the large Mabari sitting quietly before returning.

"Winston, I am here to see Mia. Since it is before noon, I assume she is still here?" Mia spent most of her mornings with her children, and since Rosalie had joined her for her Season, the afternoons chaperoning her to social functions.

"Indeed, Sir." The butler bowed and led them to the morning parlor, "Would you be so good as to wait in here while I tell her you… and your guests, have arrived?" The man looked at Elya with inquiry, a disapproving glance at Scamper, but Cullen had no intention of telling the man that Elya was his wife. Winston would tell Mia and that would cause a whole mess. And well… Scamper was self-explanatory.

Cullen settled Elya into one of the comfortable chairs. It was a tasteful room done in light blue and yellow, the unofficial colors of the Rutherford family. Elya seemed to take a modicum of comfort from the uncluttered décor and the pastoral landscapes on the wall. Rosalie had painted most of them, vistas from Rutherford house and the lands that had come with it. He felt a catch in his throat at the sight of the giant elms and swampy flowers that was one of his favorite spots back home. He couldn't wait to take Elya there, show her the iris the flourished.

A shout from somewhere above him reverberated through the house, drawing all attention upwards. Scamper rose uncertainly as a quick rush of footsteps thudding down stairs announced that his sister had been told of his arrival. Elya stood as well, shakily letting out a breath and clutching her hands before her. Cullen would have held her except he knew what he was in store for.

A statuesque woman with curly blond hair in a soft updo and a wide smile burst into the room. Her blue eyes positively sparkled when they landed on Cullen, and she made a screechy noise and launched herself at him. Cullen was prepared, stepping forward so they would be out of reach of anything to knock into and already laughing at her predictable greeting.

"Cullen! Cullen, you are home!" She pulled away only to laugh and scan his face critically, checking him, before repeating her effusive hug. "You rascal! We had no idea how long you were-" Mia opened her eyes and caught sight of Elya, cutting herself off. "Oh, pardon me," Mia stepped back, smoothing her blue skirts with a suppressed smile, "I forgot Winston said you had a companion."

Cullen watched Mia closely, saw the speculative glint in her eyes as she took Elya's measure. He felt his own butterflies rise in his stomach, and crossed to Elya's side. He took one of her hands in his, turned back to his sister and said, "Mia, I would like you to meet Elya, my wife."

Mia's smile dropped with her jaw, utter surprise leaving her speechless, a state Cullen didn't expect to last long. Elya gave a reserved little smile and curtsied, "I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Richards. Cullen has told me so much about you." Her training taking over for the awkwardness of the moment, trying to find some semblance of normal.

Mia finally, sort of, found her tongue again, "How… when? You just…"

Cullen answered at least some of her questions. "We met on my mission," Mia knew of the secretive and dangerous nature of his job, knew that he couldn't provide her with much information. "Elya saved my life, on more than one occasion. And through it all, we fell in love. We were married just a few days ago, and have been traveling constantly for far too long."

Mia's eyes sharpened, a suspicious glint waring with gratitude. Cullen mentally sighed; she was his big sister. It was the speed of the thing. She thought Elya had trapped him into marriage. He turned to his wife, bringing her lovely work roughened hand encased in a cheap glove to his lips for a warm kiss. "Elya is the most compassionate and wonderful woman I have ever met, and I love her tremendously."

Elya melted slightly, the stiffness in her spine relaxing as he claimed her before his sister. It suddenly dawned on Cullen that there was a part of her that had been worried he would reject her. The scars from her past still lingered, their relationship still so new and secret. But he hadn't pushed her away or sided with the suspicion she must have seen on Mia's face. He smiled to her lovingly, reminding her that he wasn't going anywhere, that he would always choose her over any scandal. Elya's pretty lips lifted in a soft curve, her brown eyes going dreamy, and she shone.

Cullen place his arm around her waist and tugged her to his side, presenting a united front to his sister. Mia looked back and forth between them for a long minute, but then she sighed, a slightly rueful smile replacing the tension. "Well, you finally are married. I owe Branson a good chunk of money. I bet you weren't going to settle down till you left the military." She gave Elya a polite smile, nothing like the open joy she had bestowed upon him. "Elya, welcome to the family. I look forward to hearing the whole story of your courtship."

Well, it was a start, even if knew it would be an interrogation. "I know you have questions Mia, and we will answer them as soon as we are able to. But I must leave for the castle immediately. I cannot delay any longer; I will be taking one of you horses."

Elya whirled, stark worry blanching her cheeks once more. "Oh but… Cullen are you sure? Will it be safe?"

Ignoring the curious and somewhat alarmed looks his sister was giving them, he focused on his wife. "I must. And we have been both fast and careful."

"But on horseback… you will be so visible." She pressed her lips together, lines of worry and fatigue between her winged brows and around her mouth.

Irresistible lady. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, softening the frightened line. "I will also be fast; much faster than I could be in a carriage in the city's traffic." He stepped away from her haven, giving her a crooked smile. "Don't worry darling, I will be careful." He looked at Mia, "I may be gone until quite late this evening. Can you please make sure Elya gets some rest? She needs it after the last few days we have had." Cullen headed towards the door before a thought arrested his movements.

"Oh, by the way, Elya and I have a Mabari, Scamper there. He is a good pup; just don't let him get into the kitchens." And then he was off, headed towards the mews in search of a fast horse.

Within half an hour he was striding into the Audience Hall, scanning for King Alistair's personal secretary. All around him men and women of standing eyed his rough workman's clothes with disdain, their own uniforms or formal attire gleaming. Yet many of them were military, or connected with the war in some way; it wasn't unusual for someone to appear like he was before them. Cullen surreptitiously watched for any signs of over attention. Perhaps some of these men and women were on the list of spies he could feel burning against his abdomen.

In perfect military dress, Cullen saw Nathaniel Howe standing near the empty throne. He beelined for the man, saw his eyes widen at Cullen's appearance and nod immediately. They met each other halfway, Nathaniel already speaking. "He is in a meeting that should be over in ten minutes. I will make sure you are next."

Cullen nodded. "I will wait. This meeting will need to be alone." As one of the Queen's closest companions, Nathaniel was proven both loyal and invaluable, and was one of the few who knew everything. Including the mission that Cullen had been sent on… which put another of the trusted leaders under suspicion. He gritted his teeth. Double damn and Fade curse it. He hated this.

Nathaniel bowed and melted away, and Cullen turned to head to the outskirts of the room; putting a wall at his back sounded like the best option. Not that he expected anything to happen to him while he was here. The palace was far too public a place, the company too selective. Nothing could happen to him that would not throw suspicion on everyone. But he could keep an eye on everyone.

And felt himself stumble backwards.

The face he had just seen paled, an audible gasp leaving the man's mouth. A red cut bisected partway into the man's long beard and across a too lean cheek. His left arm was bundled and strapped tightly across his chest, held immobile.

"Cullen," Blackwall whispered. And then Cullen and he were hugging each other hard, both ignoring the grunt of sound that escaped Blackwall as his arm was squeezed between them. Cullen was shaking his head as he slapped the other man's broad shoulders. He stepped back and raked critical eyes over his friend, scarce believing what he was seeing.

"Thom, Andraste bless you. I thought you were dead." He looked hard at Blackwall; he did not look well. He was too thin, haggard and tired looking. Besides the arm and the scar, Cullen saw he was holding himself stiffly, as if he were in more pain elsewhere too.

Blackwall shook his head, his low voice dropped quieter due to their audience. "I thought I was too. And you as well." The man's face split into a smile. "Maker, I have never been so happy to be wrong."

Cullen nodded for an alcove, and they retreated, lowering their voices even more. "How did you manage to escape?"

Blackwall's face went grim, those lines becoming more pronounced. "You saved my life by drawing them away. The remaining… scoundrels," Blackwall remained vague on purpose, "left to follow you. I spent only enough time to check on the others before hiding myself."

Cullen closed his eyes against the grief, "And the others?" He knew the answer by the same pain that was mirrored in his second's eyes, his shaking head.

Blackwall sighed heavily. "Gone. I couldn't… I had to leave them…" his jaw ground, and he pushed through. "I made my way to our checkpoint, as we had planned, going to meet up with Samson and hide for a few days till we could determine if you had managed to elude your pursuers. But when I got there, Samson had disappeared. I waited as long as I could but I realized…" He looked around the room, eyes narrowed before he lowered his voice even more. "He betrayed us, didn't he." Blackwall didn't frame it as a question, his blue-grey eyes starkly serious.

Cullen nodded once, looking away. He still couldn't believe it. "I believe so."

"Maker," was all Blackwall breathed. The shared in silence, unable to go into detail while in public. Cullen suddenly ached to hold Elya, curl around her and absorb her peace. Since he couldn't do that for some time yet, he would settle for a glass of whiskey. Something to replace the burning in his chest.

He cleared his throat, "Your arm? And you made it back okay?" Safer topics, not so fraught with emotion.

Blackwall's mouth went tense and he stared down at his arm. "They broke it, during the fight. I couldn't risk finding someone to set it, so I tried myself. It went… badly." His jaw clenched hard, and Cullen felt his stomach drop, knowing that the news would not be good. "I made it to our extraction point, knew I had to report, since I was the only one left. They weren't looking for me, thinking they had gotten everyone." His rumble of a voice broke slightly, and he paused for a moment before continuing. "I just got back three days ago. The physician had to rebreak my arm to set it better but… it won't ever recover fully." Anguish passed over his face. "I won't be able to fight again."

"Maker, Blackwall." Cullen closed his eyes, knowing what a blow it was for his friend. "I'm so sorry."

Nathaniel materialized at his elbow, "Sir Cullen, he is ready for you now."

Cullen held out his hand to Blackwall, their handshake strong and full of unspoken words. "Call on me tomorrow, at Mia's residence. We will finish this then."

Blackwall nodded, his voice gruff. "I will. And Cullen, it is Fade-damned good to see you."

"Likewise, Thom. Likewise." And Cullen had to leave behind the last of his men as he went to report the mixed success of his mission to his King.


End file.
